Strange Laughter
by N.Q. Wilder
Summary: An Inquisitor who doesn't want to be Inquisitor and a rogue and thief who will tempt your fate. What more do you need?
1. Prologue: The Tiger

_Hi, there! I'm N.Q. Wilder. If you're a reader of my All Things Pass series from Mass Effect, then welcome friends! Hopefully you're part of that cross-section of people who have played both ME and DA and will enjoy this new story. If you haven't played DA, particularly DA: Inquisition, then I apologize; this story may not be for you. If you're new and don't know me from a hole in the ground, then greetings! I never really thought that I would ever write something for another fandom, even if they are closely related, but, well, here we are. Anyway, this requires me to do a little bit of explaining, I think. To the new people: I typically include an author's note before each chapter to take care of housekeeping matters and share some of my thoughts on the story. I'm one of those weird people that actually likes forewords in books, and I know some of my past readers have been of a similar mind. If this does not interest you in any way, please feel free to skip down to the story. Don't worry; I won't be quizzing you on it later or anything._

 _Ok, so first thing's first. Why did I write this story? Well, I played Dragon Age: Inquisition and much to my chagrin (due to my bitterness towards Bioware) I fell in love with the game. This came as a great surprise to me, especially because I didn't take my first play through very seriously (my character was a man-whore and my basic goal was to see how many romances I could rack up). But it was impossible not to fall in love with the characters in the game and to find the gameplay addicting. Before finishing my first play through I already knew I wanted to start a second one. A big driving force behind this desire was that I had discovered that Sera was absolutely hilarious and I was sorely disappointed that my man-whore Inquisitor couldn't romance her. I absolutely had to see what happened if you romanced Sera. So, I created a new female Inquisitor and took this second play through much more seriously. I discovered that not only is the Sera romance probably one of the best written romances in the game, but that Sera was actually a much more complex character than I originally gave her credit for. Plus I grew attached to this second Inquisitor (no offense to my dear man-whore, Franky). I got so attached to Sera's character that I was super curious to see what people had written about her. I was shocked to find that the fandom for Sera is incredibly small. It was frustrating because I think her character has so much depth and is so much fun. Anyway, that's why this story exists. I wanted to add my two cents about this wonderful character and add a little more to her fandom. Plus I really wanted to try writing as Sera; she's a fascinating character. Hopefully it all works out._

 _Ok, now on to some technical points. I'm posting the first two chapters back to back because this first one is just a prologue. This prologue is from Sera's point of view, but I'll be going back and forth between her and the Inquisitor. I definitely wanted to take a stab at writing from Sera's point of view because she has an incredibly unique voice, but I acknowledge that Sera can be hard to follow. I hoped to hit a nice balance between immediate and rambling but also understandable. I'll talk more about Sera's characterization later, but I hope you guys can follow her chapters just fine. Please feel free to tell me if I screwed up and she's still too hard to follow. Or even not hard enough. I've given a lot of thought on how to write as Sera so I'd be curious to hear people's thoughts._

 _Also, many thanks to my dear friend, Beast of Burton, for all of her help. She has written excellent stories on these characters as well and I greatly appreciate her help. Like a saint, she tolerated and engaged in many nerdy discussions with me about how to write from Sera's point of view, and also edited some of the chapters including this one._

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 **Prologue: The Tiger**

It is a formal and deserted garden with many flowers and winding paths. She feels like a tiger, crouching in the shadows. Waiting. Watching.

He looks like a tiger too, sometimes, pacing the courtyard back and forth. She imagines his tail lashing back and forth with fury and impatience. But he isn't a tiger. He's a puffed up, overconfident rooster, strutting about in his colorful feathers. He can't imagine for even one second that this isn't about him. That it was never about him. That he's just a pebble dropped in a pond. Nothing more.

And tigers eat roosters.

But she waits. She wants to see who else will come. She sent the invitation, dropped the rooster in the trap, and now she wants to see if anyone takes the bait.

And then suddenly, there _she_ is. She doesn't look like Andraste. She doesn't look like a rooster either. She doesn't even look like a tiger. She looks like something else. Something unexpected.

The tiger slinks silently to a new position in the shadows, moving closer to the action and in for a better look.

 _Her_ hair isn't red; it's black. Long and straight and draped over one shoulder with the opposite side shaved between the ear and temple. It's beautiful hair, the kind the tiger would like to run her hands through. _Her_ skin isn't pale; it's dusky. She doesn't look like those statues outside every chantry. Her dark skin is flushed with life and her vibrant, violet eyes are lively and cutting. She's young, but not girlish. Her movements graceful, predatory. She's both angry and confused at the moment, watching the rooster strut about with absolute contempt.

She isn't Andraste.

The tiger feels just a little disappointed. A part of her wanted the fairy tales to be true. It would be easier to believe if the beautiful painted fairy stories came to life and pranced before her eyes. But this woman is just a person. Someone she might like to kiss or play with. Not someone married to the Maker himself.

The tiger's attention returns to the rooster. He isn't shutting up and she's getting sick of his posturing. He's standing with his feet forming a T shape, thinking it makes him look elegant and refined, but it makes him look like he has to pee. The tiger decides that it's time to strike.

She slides out of the shadows, creeping down the stairs and jabbing a knife between the armored plates of the guard at the bottom. His gurgled death moan draws the attention of the rooster and the tiger yanks her arm back into a full draw.

"Just say 'What!'" she shouts.

"What is the –"

The arrow pierces through his open mouth with a squelching noise, the tip poking out the back of his head. The rooster stands frozen for a few seconds before collapsing to the ground. The tiger's lip twists up in disgust as she comes forward. "Ugh! Squishy one, but you heard me, right? 'Just say what.' Rich tits always try for more than they deserve." She reaches down and yanks the arrow from his face, pleased to see it is still intact. No point wasting a good arrow on that over-puffed bird. "Blah, blah, blah!" she mocks, "Obey me! Arrow in my face!" Then turning back to the woman who is not Andraste, she says, "So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you're… well, kind of plain really. All that talk and then you're just… a person." She realizes that she's letting her disappointment show and that it's not entirely fair when this woman didn't know that she was supposed to look different. So she adds, "I mean, it's all good, innit? The important thing is you glow? You're the Herald thingy."

The Herald looks suddenly weary and shrugs. The tiger gets the impression that the last few days have felt like a year to her. "Sure, why not? I glow. What's going on?" Her voice sounds like it's supposed to at least. It's clear, crisp, and proper. Not the muddy accent of the tiger.

"No idea. I don't know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him." She takes a look at the Herald's companions for the first time. There's a tall human lady with a hairy eyeball painted on her chest plate. One of those elfy-elf types with a long stick, probably magic – she decides to keep her distance from him. And a male dwarf with a crossbow. It's a weird collection of people and she wonders whether she even has the right group in front of her.

The Herald raises an eyebrow and asks, "Your people? Elves?"

The tiger scoffs at that. "No. People people." Suddenly she hears the sound of heavy boots on pavement in the distance and she recalls the rooster's other guards. She's still not sure what to make of this not-Andraste – she seems so incredibly human – but there will be plenty of time to figure out the truth later. "Name's Sera." She points to a stack of crates and adds, "This is cover. Get 'round it. For the reinforcements. Don't worry though. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They've got no breeches."

The Herald looks completely bewildered, but draws two daggers and moves behind the crates. At least she's willing to play. The tiger thinks that this is going to be a really fun game.


	2. Lady Trevelyan

_As the readers of my All Things Pass series are probably all well aware, I love poetry. So much so that I regularly memorize poems in an effort to truly internalize the words. And one of the reasons I am so drawn to Sera as a character is that she is incredibly poetic. Every little thing she says packs so much meaning. She's also deceptive: seemingly ignorant but in reality showing great insight into the truth behind events in the game. It is a theme that I will explore a lot in this story, so I won't go into more detail here. However, I want to take this opportunity to acknowledge that the title of this story is an homage to my favorite poet, Stevie Smith. The first two chapters have made some other references to her already, and there will be more to come, but I want to talk about the title in particular. My Mass Effect stories all took their titles directly from her work, each a reference to specific poems. Strange Laughter, on the other hand, is a reference more to the woman herself, as it is taken from a critical essay about her work. And the reason I bring this up is that I assert that the people who do not seem to like Sera probably feel that way for the same reason that critics often ignore Stevie: both Sera and Stevie make people uncomfortable. A key part of the essay that serves as the namesake for this story reads, "Smith stands out as a willful, isolated, slightly worrying figure, someone much easier to humour and patronise than engage in debate." This comment could just as easily apply to Sera. What I hope to accomplish in this story is to actually listen to what Sera has to say, to engage her in debate._

 _Largely, the purpose of this chapter is to introduce our Inquisitor and establish the starting point of her relationship with Sera. While I love my Mass Effect stories, I have to admit that I have had a blast writing from the point of view of a character who is so different from Shepard. There's something really cathartic about a hero who resents being the hero._

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 **Lady Trevelyan**

Tucked away in a corner of the Haven tavern, back to the wall, Nyima Trevelyan sat with her eyes closed listening to the bard sing. It was late and she should have gone to bed hours ago, but she couldn't sleep. Alone in her quarters, all she could think about was whether there was still any chance that she might escape. Could she slip out of Haven without anyone noticing? How far could she get? Surely the Inquisition could find someone else to be their prophet, find some other way to close the Breach. Surely…

But no. Nyima was realistic enough to know that whatever the power in her hand was, it wasn't being tossed out to another unfortunate sap who could take her place. And besides, she couldn't run and hide forever; there would be too many people hunting her: the Inquisition, the faction of the Chantry that despised her, and not to mention whatever dark force was behind the Breach. No matter how many times she turned it over in her head, she only saw one way to survive. Play along with the Inquisition long enough to close the Breach, and then hightail it out of there. Let the Inquisition shield her long enough to make it through this mess alive and then escape. Hopefully, her benevolent captors wouldn't change their minds and kill her first.

"So, Lady Herald, I heard that you really are a _Lady_ Herald." Sera's voice cut through Nyima's thoughts, suddenly blocking out the background noise of the bard's singing and the drunken chatter of soldiers. Opening her eyes, Nyima studied the strange elf as she sat down across from her with a beer mug in her hands. Sera was an enigma that Nyima still couldn't quite wrap her mind around. A city elf who seemed to hate all things elf-related, who pranked or harassed nobles for sport and maybe profit, and who had proven surprisingly talented with a bow, despite being self-taught. She had no respect for any sort of chain of command and seemed to think the Inquisition was a game more than anything else. Then there was her… _unique_ speech patterns. Separating the often jumbled assortment of expletives, stream-of-thought non sequiturs, and out of context information was almost like learning a new language. Still, Nyima thought that she was getting the hang of it, slowly but surely. If nothing else, trying to learn what made Sera tick was an interesting distraction from the Inquisition – even if, as Nyima suspected, it would probably be fruitless.

Nyima raised an eyebrow at Sera's odd introduction to a conversation and took a sip of the beer in front of her while she tried to decipher the other woman's meaning. After a few seconds of thought, she put her pint back down and said, "You mean you looked into my background." Obviously Sera had connected her surname Trevelyan with the noble house of the same name in the Free Marches. Given Sera's outspoken dislike of nobility her interest in Nyima's heritage was unavoidable. But, to be perfectly honest, Nyima didn't feel like having a conversation at the moment, especially not one about her family. Yet, alienating Sera also wouldn't be wise. If Sera would be responsible for watching Nyima's back in the future, then it was better to be on friendly terms.

Sera let out a derisive snort. Then she said, "I didn't go digging into your dark past, oh Herald. That's Leliana's thing. People just talk. Little people, big people. Everyone talks. Sometimes I listen."

"Right," Nyima answered. "So, is it a problem or are you just bringing it up to get to know me better? If it's a problem, then I would like to point out that the whole 'Herald of Andraste' thing is a much bigger and more immediate problem. Trust me; my family are all fairly minor nobles and they have very little reach this far south. As a prophet, however, I currently have more power than anyone else in my family has had in over a hundred years."

This didn't seem to be the response Sera had expected because she gave Nyima a sideways glance as if not sure what she was looking at. "Sounds like it pisses you right off. Being touched by Andraste and all."

Letting out a rough, sarcastic laugh, Nyima said, "Yeah, surprisingly, having people look to me like I'm some sort of prophet who is going to save them, when I don't even know if I can save myself, has me less than thrilled." She was letting her bad mood get the better of her, she knew, but she didn't feel like sugar-coating the truth. Nyima certainly didn't want Sera to stay because of some misguided belief that Nyima actually _was_ the Herald of Andraste.

"Don't believe it?"

Nyima couldn't help the sharp, derisive scoff that escaped her lips. "Of course I don't believe it. It's a load of crap. All of it." Then, thinking better of being openly hostile towards the Chantry, Nyima relented a little by adding, "Well, the hand and the Breach stuff is all true. But I'm certainly not on speaking terms with Andraste or anything. Something you should know before you decide to put your faith in me, Sera: I never wanted to be here; I never wanted to be in charge; and I certainly never wanted this weird power in my hand. If I had a choice, I'd be a hundred miles from here." Then, with a roguish grin she said, "If you're looking to be a hero, I'm very willing to trade places."

Sera snorted at that idea and took a long drink of beer. After setting it back down she said, "So, you're some sort of fancy-pants lady who doesn't want to be in charge. Don't believe in destiny and stuff. Think it would be better down here with the rest of us."

Nyima shrugged. "More or less, I suppose." Sera's eyes widened, obviously not expecting such a candid response. Nyima added, "The more accurate statement is probably that I just wanted to be left alone. And then," she made a sweeping gesture around the room with her right hand, "all of this happened."

Sera leaned in across the table. "How _did_ all of this happen anyway? Some people say you killed that Divine lady. Don't believe 'em, but hear it anyways. But raises questions. Questions like why you were at that big Chantry meeting."

Nyima took another gulp of her beer, suddenly feeling a bit bitter at having to recall how spectacularly her plan had failed. The last thing she had expected when she came to the tavern was to have to get into her personal history. Still, someone was going to ask sooner or later. She was just surprised that Sera was the first and that the leaders of the Inquisition had barely asked about her life or motivations. One would think they'd be a bit more concerned about whether their prophet was a raving lunatic. "My family is really religious. Everyone is always involved with the Chantry, sucking up to templars and revered mothers. My mother has been pushing me to join the Chantry for years. Meanwhile, I've been trying to think of a way to disappear for years."

"Why not just leave if you wanted out so bad?" Sera asked. Then, mocking, "Too afraid?"

"No, that wasn't it. I knew I wouldn't get very far before I got caught. If I just left the estate they'd know I was gone and track me down before I got out of the Free Marches. My family might not be high nobility, but they do have a lot of money and a lot of resources. And once I showed my cards they'd suddenly start watching me very carefully. I needed a head start. An excuse to be far outside their reach so that they wouldn't know I was missing for at least a month."

"You volunteered to go, then? To get away?"

Nyima nodded. "Yes. I had been appeasing my mother for a while by telling her that I was considering joining the templars. It got her off my back for some time, but I knew that eventually the lie would drag out too long. When I heard about the conclave, and I knew some of our cousins would be in attendance as members of the Chantry, I begged my mother to pull the strings necessary to have me accompany them. I told her that I wanted to see the Templar Order in person, talk to them, to make sure that I really did want to be one. That I couldn't be sure until I saw them doing Andraste's work with my own eyes. She figured it was a sure way to finally get me into the Chantry hierarchy. And that was it. I was all set to head south and be far outside the reach of my family."

"So, what, you thought you'd just slip away – oh, excuse me, I'm just going to step out for a bit – and then, bam, you're gone?"

"Again, more or less."

"Well, that all turned to shite." Sera took a long drink of her own beer, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and then said, "Ok, other question: how come you know how to fight?"

"All high born families will hire someone to train their children in the sword and bow. It's fairly common."

"Yeah, I know, teachers, right?" she said with a knowing grin, referencing Nyima's earlier surprise at learning that Sera had taught herself how to use the bow. "But that's not it. You don't fight like them. The other big people. Cassandra – I'll hit you with my sword till you're dead – and Cullen – my honor is so important to me, blah, blah. You throw sand in a guy's face before sticking a knife between his ribs. Sometimes in fights I lose track of you and the next time I see you you're tackling some guy to the ground and putting a knife in his chest and he looks like he just shat himself."

"Ah, right. That's…" she trailed off, unsure how to explain. "Unless I did join the templars or something, I was never going to receive the type of direct combat training that Cassandra and Cullen got. I was taught the basics, as all children of nobility were, but I'm the second daughter and fourth child of my house." She noticed the sudden scowl on Sera's face at the mention of her family position, and explained, "The order you're born in the family makes a big difference to nobles. It's… stupid. But basically it means that I would never inherit the family estate. That will go to my oldest brother, first in line. So, Marc, my oldest brother, got a private teacher to instruct him on martial combat: Master Brehm, a man of immense knowledge in the fighting arts – probably more talented that my parents ever realized really. I don't know why he stooped to teaching nobles. Maybe it was a form of retirement in his old age. It certainly paid well." Nyima shook her head. "Anyway, he taught Marc the spear, the sword, the bow, all the main tournament and dueling weapons. But my brother loves to hunt, and he was never that interested in his lessons. He dutifully went to his lessons, of course, but he didn't take them that seriously. He didn't want to win tournaments; he just wanted to participate in great hunts. That ended up being fortunate for me because Master Brehm was eager to teach a student who actually wanted to learn."

"So, he teaches you. But why not teach you all that other fancy tourney stuff?"

"Because even though it was acceptable for me to know the basics of fighting, a mere lady of the court has no business learning the arts of war. Unless I joined the templars, my job was to go to parties, play the Great Game, and make my family look good. But Master Brehm convinced my parents that it would be a good idea to teach me what he described to my parents as 'the style of ladies.' The Great Game –" Realizing that Sera would probably be unfamiliar with the term, she explained, "That is, the political scheming of high society – can be dangerous with assassins and kidnappers. He convinced my parents that his style of discrete self-defense techniques would be invaluable to a lady of the court and that I should be equipped with this knowledge. They eventually agreed, but they never knew that this 'style' was actually more than just self-defense. It was an entire school of techniques, all focused on deception and using weapons that do not appear to be weapons, or that can be easily hidden on your person."

Sera looked Nyima up and down and said, "Yeah, you look the type to have a knife in your boot or somethin'."

 _Or one in each boot_ , Nyima thought, but she didn't say that out loud. "Anyway, that's the only reason I'm not dying every time we go out into the field. Master Brehm taught me to fight in the way that maximized my chances of survival. If I were to fight someone like Cassandra one on one, she'd crush me. No contest. But if I _were_ going to fight Cassandra, she wouldn't even know we were fighting before I made my move."

Sarah nodded her agreement. "Get 'em before they get you." Then she tilted her head and said, "You said your teacher taught you to use weapons that don't look like weapons. You mean magic?"

"No, I'm not a mage," Nyima said with a shake of her head. "Unless this stupid mark on my hand makes me one or something now. But at court you can't just carry weapons into a party or ball. So, you have to learn to see everything as a potential weapon. Obvious stuff like a gentleman's walking stick or less obvious stuff like a lady's gold chain necklace." Nyima smiled and added, "You should see what kind of damage I can do with a fan."

Sera raised an eyebrow. "What? Like a dainty little – it's so hot outside – fan?"

"Exactly. A really useful weapon. And you always have an excuse to have one on your person. I used to carry one with me just about everywhere."

"I don't believe you."

Nyima smiled and let out a soft laugh. "And that's why I'd win."

Letting out an amused snort, Sera replied, "I'd stick you so full of arrows."

Nyima winked. " _If_ you saw me coming first."

Sera studied the Herald for a minute, took another gulp of her beer, and then said, "Ok, Lady Herald, you're alright. For now. But don't get all high-born arse-face on me, yeah?"

Nyima chuckled, shaking her head. "I'll try my best, Sera."


	3. Dangerous Games

_Let's talk logistics for a minute. This story was actually started ages ago. Honestly, it has probably been over a year at this point. My original intention was to completely finish it, spend time editing, and then post it. As of right now, this story is about 75% written, but by no means done. The reason for the change in plans is that, obviously, giving myself all the time in the world did not help speed up the process. I have done an extensive amount of editing, which is great, but I have also allowed myself to return to the same chapters over and over again whenever I get stuck, rather than pushing on. I think that at this point it'll be best if I am forced to finally declare chapters done and not be allowed to tinker with them anymore. Hopefully, that'll force me to finish the remaining 25% of work that needs to be done. My current estimate for total number of chapters is 14 – maybe 15 if I end up having to split the final chapter in half._

 _This will be the last chapter that is mostly just surface Sera, where we are seeing her primarily through the lens of Nyima's first impressions. But I do think it is an important moment that sets the tone for their friendship and, ultimately, relationship. We all have our own ways of telling other people that we want to be friends with them. Sera's way is just… special._

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 **Dangerous Games**

Nyima reread the note in her hand, her brow furrowing in confusion. Josephine had just handed her the weekly reports that the ambassador expected her to be familiar with: summaries on the state of their current alliances, information from Leliana about scouting and spying, and updates from Cullen about their troops. Nyima took the stack of papers outside the Chantry building to find a quiet spot to read and had begun flipping through the papers to get an idea of just how much reading she would be expected to do. While she perused the stack she'd found a tiny slip of paper tucked away in the pile with handwriting that she didn't immediately recognize. Taking it out, she'd read the note and then stopped in her tracks. It read:

 _Come to your room for a gift._

Josephine hadn't said anything about such an odd note, and the handwriting was strange: messier than anything else Nyima ever saw in the weekly reports, an almost childish hand. Though she had the vaguest notion that she had seen it before, she couldn't remember where. Nyima's natural skepticism made her wonder whether the note was somehow a trap, but that seemed unlikely. Her room was located right within the heart of the camp and a guard always stood nearby. A stranger would be hard pressed to sneak into the camp and then also into her room. Although there could always be a double agent lurking in the camp somewhere. Cassandra had warned her that many people would want her dead and that the Inquisition was all that stood between her and nightly visits from assassins. At least with the Inquisition shielding her, if anyone wanted to get close enough to kill her they'd need to do it out in the field or work on gaining trust in Haven.

Nyima racked her brain trying to remember if she'd spoken to anyone about anything that the note might be a reference to. A gift? She couldn't imagine anyone just getting her a gift for no reason. However, the Inquisition did have an interest in keeping the Herald of Andraste well equipped for combat, so maybe it was armor or weapons. That did seem more likely. Maybe the blacksmith had left something for her and given the note to Josephine to pass along, and that was why the ambassador didn't think to mention the strange message.

Not sure what to think, Nyima decided to go ahead and investigate. Better to do it now in broad daylight than at night. She turned around and headed to the little shack that had been set aside as her quarters. Opening the door, she tossed the stack of papers on the end table near the door and then continued on towards the middle of the room. She looked around for anything different and spotted an object laying on her nightstand. She crossed over and picked it up, turning it over in her hands. She held a lady's fan: about two hand-lengths long, white silk with gold trim, and a firm, oak handle. Confused, Nyima open it to reveal a finely painted Orlesian lion in gold and red.

 _Is this some sort of political maneuver?_ she wondered. She wasn't as familiar with the Great Game in Orlais as she was back home – or Orlesian culture in general really. Was a fan a compliment? A threat? She flipped it closed again and looked for any inscription on the side but found none. No indication of who had sent it. In the Free Marches, sending a lady a fan might be an indication of one's intention to court her, although that wasn't always the case. Besides, that seemed highly unlikely at the moment.

As she stood, head bowed down towards the fan, her back to the door, Nyima suddenly got the unnerving feeling that she was being watched. Her ears strained and she heard the extremely quiet footfall of someone trying not to be heard behind her. Immediately alarmed, Nyima turned her head to look, and caught the silhouette of a person out of the corner of her eye, nearly within reaching distance of her. In an instant her body reacted on instinct, several things happening in only a matter of seconds.

The assailant realized that he or she had been spotted and quickly lunged forward to grab Nyima. At the same time, Nyima snapped open the fan which made a loud whirring noise, and immediately raked it forward towards the assassin's face. The cloth and wooden ribs raked across his or her eyes, blinding the attacker momentarily, but also blocking him or her from view. Not that the identity of the assassin mattered at the moment. Nyima wasn't even thinking as her muscle memory kicked in to protect her. The person screamed, "Oh shit!" and her hands – it was definitely a woman's voice – went to her face to block the fan. As soon as the woman raised her arms Nyima quickly dropped her right hand, along with the fan, snapping it shut again as her right arm circled the attacker's left arm. Nyima's hand snaked around and forward in a small circle, forcing the other woman's arm to swing inward and crash against the other raised hand and eventually pinning both across her chest. The assassin now stood in a closed off stance with her arms tucked against her frame, hands pinned awkwardly across her chest like useless little claws.

A quick glance told Nyima that her attacker also hadn't thought about her feet placement, making it simple for Nyima to snake her right leg behind both the assassin's legs to block her from stepping back. Then she merely pushed. With the attacker's legs trapped, her arms constrained, and her stance rigid, she toppled backwards with almost no effort. As the assassin landed flat on her back, Nyima was on her in a second, pinning her legs down with her own, left hand forcing the other woman's arms to remain immobilized against her chest, and the solid wooden handle of the fan pointed right at the attacker's throat. She jabbed the tip of the fan into the soft part at the base of the throat, just above the collar bone, enough to make the attacker extremely uncomfortable, but not enough to cut off her oxygen supply. Yet.

All of these things happened in less than five seconds, and Nyima had hardly thought about her actions. But now she stared down at her attacker and realizing who it was, her jaw dropped. "Sera?" she exclaimed. The other woman's face twisted from the pain of the fall and the fan digging into her throat, but she tried to flash a smile that turned into more of a grimace.

"Friggin' shite, Lady Herald, you weren't kiddin'."

Nyima blinked, unsure what Sera was talking about. Sera wriggled slightly, testing how securely she was pinned to the ground, and after confirming that she couldn't escape, she added, "Mind getting that thing off my neck? Hurts something like the Maker's ass, yeah?"

Nyima didn't loosen her grip or remove the fan from Sera's throat. She'd never pegged the woman for a double agent, but she also hadn't known her very long. "What in the Maker's name were you doing, Sera?" Nyima demanded, furious. "Why did you attack me?"

"Not _attack_ you," Sera said, drawing out each word. " _Test_ you. You said I wouldn't believe what you can do with a fan. I didn't believe you. So I wanted to see." Then she grinned, though it was still more of a grimace. "Believe you now."

Nyima's mind reeled, unsure how to proceed. Was Sera telling the truth? All of this just to see if Nyima had been lying? She didn't think Sera realized just how lucky she was at the moment. Nyima could have just as easily thrown an in-step kick to the woman's knees and shattered them or smashed in Sera's face. In the end, a sore back and throat was a tiny price to pay when Nyima might have been more savage in her defense. Sera had been on enough outings with the Herald to know that she always erred on the side of caution. If Nyima struck someone, they typically never got the chance to strike back.

Nyima couldn't shake the possibility that Sera really was an assassin and was trying to talk her way out of her blunder now. After all, who in their right mind would attack someone just to see if they could defend themselves? It would be ridiculous to jump someone and think of it as a game. Sera stared up at Nyima with a puzzled look, as if completely lost as to why the Herald hadn't already released her. Sighing inwardly, Nyima acknowledged that if anyone she knew wasn't quite in her right mind, it was probably Sera.

Glancing around at the rest of their surroundings, Nyima tried to reason through whether Sera really was an assassin or just being stupid. The other woman had snuck a note into Josephine's reports without the ambassador noticing, with the intent of getting the Herald alone and off-guard. That definitely seemed like an assassin. But then she'd given Nyima a fan before attacking. If Sera were trying to kill Nyima, she'd have to be completely incompetent to give her victim something she'd expressly been told could be used as a weapon. Unless this was some sort of honor thing. Then, Nyima noticed that Sera didn't have a knife or other weapon on her person. Giving her victim a weapon and leaving herself empty handed would just be ridiculous for an assassin.

Nyima let out a sigh of relief. If Sera was an assassin, then she had to be extremely bad at her job. It was much more likely that Sera was just being an idiot. Besides, she probably would have tried to shoot her with arrows from far away if she really wanted Nyima dead.

Pulling the fan away from Sera's throat, Nyima said, "Never do something like this again, Sera. I really could have hurt you. This isn't a game."

Sera seemed completely unperturbed and just flashed her cocky grin. "It all worked out, dinnit? You got to practice your fancy fighting stuff. I got to see something new. And I got the Herald to sit on top of me. Woof. Seems like a win for everybody, don'it?" Nyima rolled her eyes and rose to her feet, fully releasing Sera. She held out her hand and helped the other woman up, who winced and rubbed her butt. "Shite. This is gonna hurt tomorrow."

"It's the least you deserve for being an idiot," Nyima grumbled. "You're lucky that you're cute otherwise I wouldn't keep you around anymore." She looked down at the fan in her hand again and said, "Where did you get this from anyway?"

"That? It's Vivienne's."

Nyima's face went pale. "You took this from Vivienne? Sera, what if it'd been damaged? She would have killed us. You first – and, I mean, she would string you up and flay you alive too – but I'd be next."

Sera laughed. "I'll put it back before the bitch even knows it's missing."

"Knowing Vivienne this is probably from the Empress or something."

"We should burn it then," Sera said excitedly. She reached for the fan, but Nyima quickly moved it behind her back and out of her reach.

"What part of flaying alive are you not getting, Sera? It means removing all of your skin – while you're still alive! And probably with magic! Now I don't trust you to put it back at all."

Giggling, Sera tugged at the Herald's arm playfully. "Ah, come on! Bet she'd shit a brick too!" She tried to snatch it from Nyima, but the other woman was too quick, keeping it away from her.

"How about we make a deal?" Nyima insisted, thinking fast. "You help me put this back _exactly_ where you found it and I'll help you steal Vivienne's underpants instead. Ok? We can scatter them all over camp. Whatever you want." The First Enchanter would tolerate a minor prank. She would probably not forgive destruction of her valuable property. Nyima simply needed to divert Sera's attention to a less dangerous game.

Sera thought about it for a minute and then took off sprinting for the door, "Race you!" And she bolted outside.

Nyima sighed in relief and shook her head. How on earth had she gotten dragged into Sera's little games?


	4. How Do You See?

_The title of this chapter is taken from a poem by Stevie Smith. A lot of the themes and ideas in the chapter owe a great deal to the poem. Again, it is hard to stress enough how much of Sera's character in this story is inspired by Stevie. Sera is one of the few characters through whom we can explore some of the religious themes present in Dragon Age. I suppose Cassandra offers some opportunities, but her faith is pretty unshakable. Leliana is another possibility, but I've always thought she is batshit crazy and thus not a great candidate either. Sera is much more vulnerable, and therefore aware of the many problems inherent in the Dragon Age theology. She has this wonderful dichotomy of wanting to believe, yet being fully aware of the dangers of believing. While I'm not interested in turning this story into a thesis on religion, it'll certainly be a prominent theme throughout._

 _This is another chapter that was edited by the lovely Beast of Burton. Being the talented and wonderful writer that she is, she gave me a lot to think about in terms of word choice. Writing both about and from Sera's point of view has prompted me to think carefully about the words I use and how I structure sentences. Beastie's attention to detail made not only this chapter better, but the rest of the story as well._

 _~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~._

 **How Do You See?**

 _I'm going to fucking die_ , Nyima thought, running both hands through her hair, eyes wide as she watched the destruction of Haven. She'd thought the same thing maybe a hundred times since she'd woken up in a jail cell with Cassandra staring her down, demanding to know about the mark on her hand. Rifts, demons, the undead, and Red Templars; she'd seen more in a couple of months than any person should have to in her entire lifetime. Somehow she'd survived every brush with death and even managed to seal the Breach in the sky. But this time she was certain. She was going to die in this frozen hell-hole.

The attack had come out of nowhere and they hadn't been the least bit prepared for it. How on earth did an army even sneak up on someone? Not to mention an entire army made up of Red Templars and what looked an awful lot like an archdemon in tow. Less than an hour ago she'd been foolish enough to think that it might be over: the world was saved. In the morning she could saddle up the nearest horse and slip away into blissful obscurity. But now their best plan for survival was to bring down a mountain on the whole camp and hope they managed to run away in the confusion. Oh, and Nyima was responsible for destroying the mountain.

 _Yeah_ , Nyima thought, feeling her stomach twist itself into knots. _I'm definitely going to die here._

At least one other person was quite vocally overwhelmed by the situation. Jogging towards the trebuchet with her companions, Nyima heard Sera muttering, "Shite friggin' arse-bucket piss-all bloody Maker…"

The others looked just as terrified. For the first time since she'd known her, Cassandra actually looked doubtful, unsure if the Maker would deliver them from harm. Varric looked downright grim, as if he were attending his own funeral. Or maybe he'd read this story before and knew how it ended. While Solas and Vivienne were both good at hiding their emotions, neither bothered to hide their worry at the moment. It was clear that both had run the odds in their heads and didn't like the results. The Iron Bull was probably the most composed and looked determined. But even that was odd for him. His usual glee at anticipation of a good fight was markedly absent.

The dragon flew over the camp again, still focusing on the Chantry building. Sera pointed and shouted, "And _why_ is there a bloody dragon? Does the Maker hate us or something?"

As terrified as Nyima felt, the realization that she would die came with a surprising addition of emotions; the two strangest being a reluctant sort of acceptance followed by a growing anger. If she was going to die, then she was definitely going to make the son of a bitch who killed her pay for it. If she found him, she would take this Elder One down with her. A fiery temper had begun working its way through her blood, pushing back the fear until it was just a tiny voice in the back of her head.

 _If I'm going to fucking die_ , she thought, _then I'm not going down alone._

~.~.~.~.~

Another arrow to keep the bloody red bastards at bay and Sera looks over her shoulder. She sees the Herald grunting as she turns the trebuchet wheel and the stupid machine finally locks into place. Part of Sera wants to shout in triumph, but the rest of her is scared shitless. She is becoming more and more concerned by how stupid this plan is. If the mountain is going to fall on top of Haven, then where exactly is _she_ supposed to go?

Edging back towards the Herald, Sera studies the other woman's face, looking for an answer. Instead she finds nothing but anger there; the Herald is practically seething, searching the sky with a look of crazed anticipation. And Sera suddenly realizes that the Herald isn't expecting to leave. She's expecting to fight that dragon, and she's gone completely loony.

Sera swallows hard and tries to stop the shaking that's started in her hands. Can't shoot with twitchy hands. Is this the end? She looks around at the others, seeing blood drip down their faces, their heavy breathing fogging the cold air, and the defeated slumps present in their shoulders. This isn't how she expected to go. When she was little she always expected to starve or get trampled by a noble's horse or knifed in the street. Lately, she thought she might make a mistake one day and swing from a noose or get careless and bam – lights out. She never expected to go out being part of something so big. Fighting scary magic shite and surrounded by friends (or people that could pass for friends), plus Vivienne and Solas too.

A gut-wrenching screech tears the air and Sera's head snaps up to see the dragon circling down towards them. It noticed what they're up to and it doesn't like it, and it begins to fall towards them, impossibly fast. The Herald takes a few steps back and then turns towards the others, waving them away with her hands. "Go! Get out of here!" she shouts over the din. Her companions start to run, but Sera can't feel her legs anymore. She just stands there and stares. She notices odd details, like how the Herald's black hair is messy and clumped with blood and snow. How there's a gash just over her right eyebrow and it's gushing blood, making half her face look like it's covered in war paint. And how her violet eyes seem to glow with the reflection of the fires raging all around them.

The dragon is coming closer, within striking distance, and the Herald notices Sera frozen and staring. She stops running with the others and changes direction immediately, charging towards Sera. She reaches Sera just as the dragon unleashes some kind of magical blast. She tackles her as pieces of the fort fly over their heads and the ground heaves. Sera can feel the force of the blast even though the other woman's body is between her and the brunt of the attack. Suddenly the ground is there to meet them and they're flipping over one another and rolling over snow.

When they come to a stop the Herald's body is on top of Sera's, shielding her. Sera hears the other woman groan in pain, so she knows that she's still alive, and then the Herald begins to rise. She staggers to her feet, clutching her left side and sort of limp, and looks down at Sera. Her face is set and grim, the sharpness of her cheekbones cutting a strong profile silhouette in the dim light.

And suddenly, for the first time, she _does_ look like Andraste.

"Get to the caves with everyone else, Sera," she orders. It's the first time Sera has heard the Herald sound so sure.

"The – the thing!" Sera sputters, suddenly blanking on the word. "The trebby-whatever! It didn't fire."

Nyima tilts her head back towards where they'd been just moments before. "I'll take care of it," she says quietly. Then louder and firmer, "Now get to the caves."

"What about you?" Sera asks, her voice straining as she struggles to her feet.

"Don't worry about me. Just go!" The other woman shoves her away and then limps off in the opposite direction. Sera is startled and confused until she feels the wind kick up around her and sees the dragon landing roughly nearby. The ground shakes with the impact and continues to shake as it stalks forward, its eyes following Nyima as she makes a run for the trebuchet.

Sera feels a stab in her gut and a coldness in her chest. The dragon isn't giving her a second look and it's creeping towards Nyima, a rumbling hiss emanating from its jaws. Sera could dance or wave her arms and scream and it still wouldn't even look at her. Then Sera sees a dark silhouette appear in the flames behind Nyima, almost human looking but with long skeletal limbs, wide shoulders, and a deformed head. A sense of dread sweeps over the area and suddenly it feels like the end. The dragon moves between Sera and Nyima, blocking her view. A sinking feeling tells Sera that she's completely cut off from the Herald now.

 _No. Not the Herald_ , she thinks. _Nyima_.

The stabbing feeling in her gut grows even worse as Sera turns and begins to run. She can still hear that awful dragon behind her, hissing and growling. There's nothing she can do and she knows it, but it still feels wrong to run. But she doesn't know what else to do. She doesn't want to die for nothing.

She runs and her vision is blurry and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She doesn't really know where she's going, but when she reaches the Chantry she sees Cassandra running back towards her. The tall woman reaches her and grabs her by the shoulders. She actually looks relieved to see Sera.

"Thank the Maker!" she gasps, breathing heavy. "We thought you were with us, but when we turned around…" She looks past Sera and suddenly her brow furrows with concern. "Where is Nyima?" The use of the Herald's real name sends another pang through Sera. Cassandra almost never uses it, preferring to use the more religious title.

For once Sera can't find any words. All she can do is shake her head.

Grief flashes across Cassandra's face, but she turns, grabbing Sera by the arm and begins to drag her down a muddy and torn up path. Sera can tell many people recently used this path. Cassandra spurs them both into a run and soon Sera's lungs are burning from the effort. She isn't sure how long they run for, but eventually she sees a sheer mountain wall ahead of them. There's a narrow opening in the wall, just wide enough for a person to fit through.

Suddenly there's a sound like another explosion, followed by a rumbling. Sera's eyes rise to where the sound came from and she sees that the mountain is falling apart. Snow and rocks are churning and rushing down in a great wave. _She did it_ , Sera thinks, shocked. _She's still alive! Or was or –_

Cassandra tugs at her arm even harder and Sera is forced to concentrate on reaching the cave. The rumbling grows louder and louder and when they reach the wall they both throw themselves into the opening. Sera's pulls her leg inside just as the colossal tower of ice and snow reaches them. She stumbles back farther from the opening as the avalanche seals it from the outside world. Finally, she's standing in the dark, back pressed against a solid stone wall, pulling in huge gasps of air. And she's alive.

"Maker preserve us," she hears Cassandra murmur.

The exhaustion, the fear, the grief, and the guilt hit Sera all at once and she slides into a crouch in the dark cave, not sure if she could move again even if she wanted to. Putting her head in her hands, she lets the tears fall.

~.~.~.~.~

Nyima had never been so cold in her life. Growing up, she used to think that diving into the cold sea during winter in the Free Marches, trying to stay in longer than any other kid, must be the coldest feeling in the world. Now, she would happily relive any of those winters in exchange for the last day or so back. The Waking Sea was a lukewarm bath in comparison to this hellish cold. She didn't know exactly how much time had passed, but she knew that she couldn't survive another day. More and more she wasn't even sure if she could survive another hour.

When she'd woken up in the crevasse, cold and hurting, she'd had a hard time believing that she was still alive. The second she had turned and kicked the crank on the trebuchet to fire it at the mountain, she'd assumed that she'd played her final hand. She'd even said something clichéd and heroic while she did it because why the hell not? She had thought she was a dead woman anyway.

After accepting her own death, she wasn't sure how to feel about surviving. Trudging through the icy tundra, searching in vain for her companions, she wondered whether it might not be better to lie down and go to sleep forever. The desire to stop hung like a great weight on her heels, but something else within her was stronger. It whispered _one more step_ over and over until it was the only thought in her head. If the voice stopped, she knew she would as well.

That's how they found her. Cold and numb and on the edge of collapse. Nyima couldn't remember arriving in the Inquisition camp or anything from the first several hours. She'd spent a great deal of it unconscious. When she came to, lying under several fur-skins and near a fire, the warmth terrified her. She was sure that the sudden warmth was a sign that she was dead. She bolted upright and immediately regretted it. Pain shot up her body and her head swam, vision blurry. Collapsing back into the makeshift bed, Nyima took several minutes to make sense of her surroundings. At first, all she could hear was her own quick, panicked breathing. But after a few minutes she forced herself to return to a steady rhythm. She wiggled her extremities and flexed the muscles in her limbs, ignoring the jolts of pain while she tried to make sure that everything was still there. She tried to recall whatever she could, and eventually reached the conclusion that she was safe, for the moment, and alive.

As she lay there, taking stock of her situation, a figure approached, placing a chair near the cot and sitting down next to Nyima. She turned her head to see Mother Giselle, and the older woman placed her warm hand upon Nyima's brow. The revered mother waited for a second, probably checking for a fever, and then stroked the young woman's hair in a motherly way. The touch felt surreal, like a dream.

"You gave us quite a scare," Mother Giselle said with a smile.

 _That's putting it mildly_ , Nyima thought, but she didn't have the energy to be sarcastic out loud. She could already feel exhaustion tugging away at her again and she feared that she'd pass out before long. She decided to ask the one thing that she absolutely needed to know. "Is everyone ok?" Her voice came out hoarse and barely audible.

"Many people made it out of Haven, thanks to you," Mother Giselle answered gently. "We could not save everyone, but it is a miracle we saved so many."

"Sera?" Nyima pressed. "She was with me at the end. Did she make it out?"

"Yes. Cassandra found her and brought her to us. She is still shaken, I think, but alive and unharmed."

Nyima let out the breath that she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, and let her muscles relax. Her head felt heavy and the tent seemed to spin a little.

Mother Giselle stroked her hair again and said gently, "Rest. We'll watch over you."

Nyima was asleep before she even finished the sentence.

~.~.~.~.~

Sera keeps to herself, circling the camp in the dark night. It's cold and miserable, and the fires twinkle like the lights of a city, warm and safe. But she stays away from the campfires and the people huddled, talking with their heads bowed. She feels apart from them; all anyone wants to talk about is how the Herald of Andraste died and then rose again. A bloody miracle. But they didn't see her die. They didn't feel it. She reminds herself that she didn't see the Herald die either, not really, but it feels the same.

Walking around in the blistering cold night, Sera thinks about the cave, about crouching there in the dark and crying over a woman she'd known barely more than a month. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd cried like that. Maybe when Lady Emmald told her about the cookies and the baker and how she'd lied all along. But Sera shouldn't have cried. She hates to cry. Hates to be weak.

Sera also hates that Cassandra saw it or heard it or whatever. She doesn't need or want someone else's pity. Cassandra hasn't said anything about it, but sometimes Sera catches her looking sad in her direction, and her voice is soft when she speaks to her. Another reason to keep away.

But mostly, she keeps away because she doesn't want to see the Herald. In her head she can see the dark skinned woman as she looked that night, a powerful figure standing in contrast to the destruction. The shadows of night obscuring her human features to make her seem otherworldly. Making it look like Andraste really did send her. But that image is displaced by others. Memories of an easy smile behind a mug of beer at the tavern, or the sound of laughter as she helps Sera string up Vivienne's underpants around the camp. A fan blurring through the air, a rough fall, and a very angry and worried face peering down at her. Honeyed words followed by a charming smirk and a playful expression. This second woman is so human and she isn't anything like Andraste; she's flirty, roguish, devious, and clever, but definitely not pious or virtuous. She rolls her eyes at the Chantry and all the talk about fate and destiny. Yet, in the beginning Sera had wished that Nyima had been more like Andraste – to make all the unreal things seem more real. Sera had wished that Nyima was more than just a person.

Now, Sera realizes that she doesn't want that at all.

She's come to like Nyima. It's a feeling that snuck up on her and caught her by surprise, like an assassin in the night. But it was Nyima who welcomed her into the Inquisition and treated her like she belonged. Nyima was the one who would laugh and drink and play games with her in the tavern late at night, or catch her in the midst of a prank and just wink and look the other way. Sera likes that person. But she's afraid that after Haven that person is gone. Nyima died and what came back is someone else, more like Andraste. More like someone who wouldn't be Sera's friend. The thought scares her so much that she has kept far away from where the Herald is recovering.

Sera's hands and feet are numb so she heads back towards the tents. She's thinking about wrapping herself in a blanket and curling up by a fire when she hears something coming from the middle of the camp. She stops and listens, straining to pick up the noise. It's faint and the wind in the mountains is fighting with it to be heard. But it starts to get louder and soon Sera picks up a strange song drifting through the camp. Others hear it too, and people start to rise from their campfires and shuffle towards the noise, whispering curiously to one another. Sera follows.

When she reaches the center she hangs back, wedging herself between a bunch of soldiers and a wagon full of supplies. All around her the crowd is singing, growing louder and louder until the mountains echo with the sound. It's terrifying and haunting and exhilarating. She knows the song, a Chantry hymn, but it has been a long time since she last thought of the words. She peers through the gaps in the crowd and spots the Herald at the center of it all. The people in the front are kneeling at her feet and the dark haired woman is staring at them with wide-eyed terror.

Sera smiles. That's the woman she knows. Reluctant to lead and thinking of escape. But as she watches, the Herald's expression changes. The fear fades and is replaced by the same grim determination that Sera saw at Haven, when she'd stared up at the other woman and suddenly seen a prophet. A familiar knot twists itself in Sera's stomach.

She feels cold inside as the song finishes, the last _the dawn will come_ hanging in the air like a ghost. But the people in the camp are happy, energized – the daft fools would probably fight Coryphyshit again right now if the Herald told them to. Sera wants to scream at them. Don't they realize that if all the fairy stories are true, that's a bad thing? That if it's all true, then the Maker is real and He's mean and He's petty and He doesn't care about them? That the end of the world is a real thing and that this could be it? Sera likes to believe in Andraste. But she's starting to think that she doesn't know which would be scarier: a world in which Andraste isn't real or a world where she is.

The crowd begins to disperse, people talking excitedly, but Sera stays put, sinking into the shadows to watch. She sees the elfy-elf, Solas, approach the Herald, lean forward, and whisper in her ear. The Herald listens, nods, and follows him out of the camp. Sera thinks about following, but there's nowhere to hide out in the snow – and the elfy-elf probably knows it too.

It's probably for the best. Sera isn't sure if she is ready to find out whether the Herald is still the woman she could have called friend, or if she's changed. But she will have to find out eventually. Because Sera is starting to realize that she can't follow a prophet. She can't believe it all like Cassandra or Leliana – swallow a bunch of half-truths without a second thought and not question it again. She needs something real. Someone she can trust.

She needs her friend back.

~.~.~.~.~

Nyima was trying not to vomit. She could feel the bile rising in her throat, her stomach churning, but she forced it back down. She had one hand against the side of a building in the newly claimed Skyhold, keeping herself steady while she stared at the spinning ground. It felt like the world was tightening in around her, constricting her, crushing her, like a single word was choking her to death.

 _Inquisitor_.

Just thinking about it sent a fresh wave of nausea through her. She despised Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, and Cassandra for doing this to her. They hadn't even consulted her beforehand. Instead, they'd trotted her out in front of everyone and declared her the Inquisitor. When she'd panicked and whispered to Leliana that she didn't _want_ to be the Inquisitor, the spymaster had essentially said, "Too bad," and handed her a sword. The red headed woman was extremely lucky that Nyima hadn't immediately stabbed her with it in retaliation. Every inch of her had wanted to run away, to throw the sword on the ground and just make a sprint for the exit, but everyone was watching her. She saw the hope in their eyes and knew that they needed to believe – believe that she was Andraste's Herald, that she could lead them to victory, that they _could_ defeat Corypheus. It was the same as when everybody began singing out in the mountains and kneeled before her. They needed to believe, so Nyima had to let them. She couldn't be the one to crush their faith. But it made her sick; lying to them about who or what she was – letting them believe because it was convenient. Both times Nyima had felt completely backed into a corner, and stood there grimly accepting their cheering. And now she was the fucking Inquisitor.

After a while the ground stopped spinning and she felt steady enough to straighten up a little. As she lifted her head, she saw Sera approaching. She hadn't seen the other woman at all recently and had even started to wonder if Sera had run off after Haven. Nyima certainly wouldn't have blamed her if she had, although she would have been sad to see her go. Sera was one of the few people who ever seemed to appreciate how crazy this situation was.

Sera took a look at Nyima's face and the way she leaned against the wall and said, "Looks like you're about to toss up all over the place, Lady Herald. Or Inquisitor. It's Inquisitor now, right?"

Nyima let out a low groan and ran her free hand through her hair. "Don't remind me. I hope you realize that you're going to have to help me get really drunk tonight."

Instead of laughing and agreeing like Nyima hoped she would, Sera actually seemed a little upset. She gave Nyima a look of suspicion and asked, "So, you still you?"

Nyima raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean? Who else would I be?"

Sera frowned slightly. "You died. That's what everyone says. And now everything's all big. It's hard to tell what's real and what's fake anymore." She paused, her eyes turning hard and then added, "Remember that war we talked about stopping? Full of little baddies I can stick with little arrows? That's not a frigging archdemon, is it?" Then she looked away and muttered, "Andraste, what'd I step in?"

Nyima got the impression that these thoughts had been eating away at Sera for some time. But she doubted that she had the answers or even the energy to deal with it all. Rolling her eyes she said, "Let me know what she says. I could use some clarification myself."

"It's swearing, not praying," Sera answered, annoyed. "She doesn't answer." Then quieter, and looking away, "Not like she's supposed to."

Realizing that she no longer felt nauseated, largely thanks to Sera's distraction, Nyima pushed away from the wall and straightened fully. She studied Sera's face for a minute, saw that the other woman really did look upset, and then asked, "So, why are you worried about me not being myself?"

"I know what happened to you. Or what everyone here thinks happened. It seems… I don't know what it seems."

"I didn't die," Nyima said, gently but with conviction.

"I know. But with all this stuff…" Sera wrung her hands, looking worried. "It's got to be nonsense, doesn't it? We're kind of screwed if it isn't. I mean, that Coryphy-thing: a Magister, right? Story is he cracked the Golden City, but that's a hazy dream. If not, Seat of the Maker? Real thing. A seat needs a butt, so the Maker? Real thing. Fairy stories about the start and end of the world? Real things."

Nyima's stomach flipped at the realization that Sera was actually making rather a lot of sense. If anything Corypheus had said was true, then the implications were mind-boggling. Could he actually become a god? Was the Golden City real and was it empty like he said? If so, what did that mean? That the Maker did exist and was now gone? Dead or maybe just abandoning them? Or did it mean that he never existed at all? And what was Nyima's role in all this? Everyone said that she had been chosen by Andraste or the Maker, but so far no divine voice had given her any advice on what to do. It felt more like she'd accidently stumbled into something far above her level of understanding. Like she was the only mortal playing in a game of gods.

"It can't be real," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She felt like throwing up again.

"It's too much, isn't it?" Sera continued, shaking her head. She studied Nyima's face for a minute, and then added, "How pretty are you that I actually think this shite is possible?"

That got a smile out of Nyima and she chuckled. "That's what I'd like to hear more of. The 'pretty' part, not the 'overwhelmed by everything' part."

Sera smiled back. "Oh sure, 'Don't mind the bung ripped through the heavens, luv.' Primp and toss, and all is well." Then her smile grew as she added, "Well, at least I know you're still you. Only person I know who can't let a good chance to flirt go by without saying something. Even when she looks about to piss herself at the idea of some stupid fairy stories being true."

Nyima laughed. "You know me too well."

"Anyway," Sera went on, "what I want is to get everything back to business as usual. A nice simple system with simple problems. Helps me, helps people, helps you. In that order. For now."

Grinning and shaking her head, Nyima said, "Things must be really bad if you're starting to sound like the voice of wisdom around here."

Sera chuckled. "I know, right?" She looked at Nyima, the suspicion and anger from before completely vanished, and a warm look of friendliness returned. Then she slapped Nyima on the shoulder and pushed her towards the tavern. "So, if you're still you and all, let's break in this tavern. Said you wanted to get messed up, right?"


	5. Second Chances

_First, my apologies. I didn't intend for such a lag between these two chapters. Originally the site was having problems which caused the delay, and then last week was insanely busy and I just didn't have the time to sit down and do anything. This is literally the first night I have had the time to upload this. But hopefully we are back on track._

 _Anyway, I liked the addition of horses in Dragon Age: Inquisition. Sure, it may have been more convenient to run from point A to B in most circumstances, but I liked having the option (especially in the freaking Wastes). Plus, horses take no fall damage so they're super convenient for impatient people like me who would rather jump from high places than climb back down. Also, I liked the attention to detail with the different breeds and their animations. One thing that would have made it better, though, is if they had animated horses for all the companions too so that I could roll up with my posse instead of having them just appear out of thin air._

 _Anyway, I decided early on that I wanted horses to have significance for Nyima. I decided that her family's wealth would come from horses. This ended up working surprisingly well, naturally fitting into the story in ways I hadn't expected. For example, it is a happy coincidence that the Trevelyan banner happens to be a horse. I wasn't aware of this before I had decided on Nyima's background, but I was obviously pleased with my luck. It also helps explain how a bunch of Rivainis became landed nobility in the Free Marches._

 _This chapter is intended to be a nice break from the doom and gloom of last chapter. Nyima and Sera's relationship is starting to shift into something much more positive for the both of them, and I think we should take the time to explore that._

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 **Second Chances**

Nyima tossed an apple from one hand to the other, whistling a tune while she walked towards the stables. She'd already spent the day scouting, and felt sore from riding and stank of horse, but she knew the horses were probably tired too. She planned to visit them briefly before taking a well-deserved bath and collapsing into her bed. Her thoughts meandered between anticipation of rest to concerns about the Inquisition back to something funny Varric had said earlier and then back again to the Inquisition. She tried over and over to distract herself from the Inquisition by thinking of literally anything else, but nothing worked. More often than not she couldn't even fall asleep, even when she was exhausted, because she couldn't stop worrying. The horses helped sometimes. They made her think of the past, both good and bad, but also simpler times. Sometimes they made her think of just running away.

As she rounded the corner and entered the stable interior, Nyima noticed someone – not Master Dennet though – and jumped back in surprise, dropping the apple and reaching for one of the knives in her jacket. She hardly ever ran across anyone else visiting the horses besides the occasional stable-hand or Master Dennet himself. The appearance of a stranger put her on sudden alert, but she breathed a sigh of relief when Sera turned to face her. The other woman had a guilty look plastered on her face – but, then again, she usually did.

Laying her left hand over her heart and releasing the hilt of the dagger in her right, Nyima said, "Maker's breath! You scared me half to death!"

"Shite. Scared you? Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack," Sera grumbled.

Taking a breath to banish the lingering feelings of edginess, Nyima bent down to pick up the apple again. As she straightened she asked, "So, why are you here, Sera?"

"Just looking around, oh Lady Herald," she replied in a sarcastic tone.

Nyima wasn't in the mood for evasive answers or games though. In a firm voice she simply said, "Sera."

"Fine, fine. Don't get your panties in a bunch. Just curious about the horses and gave 'em a look, yeah?"

"Curious about them?" Nyima tilted her head. "I was under the impression that you don't like horses very much."

"What's to like? They smell and they're big and they'll probably stomp you," Sera said, scrunching her face up as if tasting something sour. "If you saw them growing up it was bad. Always bad. Only shite-faced arseholes rode horses to do shitty things."

"Right… so exactly my point. Why the sudden interest in the horses now?" A thought occurred to Nyima and she narrowed her eyes at Sera. "If you booby-trap my horse in some way I swear by the Maker that I'll –"

Sera held up her hands defensively, saying, "Wouldn't do that. Wouldn't be funny if you got hurt." Then she giggled to herself and said, " _Booby_ -trap."

Still not sure what to make of Sera's odd behavior, Nyima said, "Good. The last thing I want is to get killed by my own horse. Corypheus probably gets the honor of doing me in, and I'd hate to disappoint him." Shaking her head, she added, "So, the reason you're here is…?"

Sera looked away and kicked the dirt before answering. "I was thinking that you like horses – a lot. You always like to go riding and you take Cassandra and Dorian and Blackwall because they like to go riding too. So, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, yeah? Maybe I missed something." She ran a hand through her hair. "Sounds daft when I say it out loud. It was a stupid idea."

Raising an eyebrow, Nyima asked, "You're giving horses a second chance on my behalf?" Then she smiled and closed the gap between them so that they both stood by one of the horse's stalls. "That's sweet of you."

Sera looked surprised but perked up. "Really?"

The horse in the stall nearest to them stuck her head out and nudged Nyima's arm when she saw the Inquisitor approach, no doubt anticipating the apple in her hand. Pulling out one of the throwing knives tucked into her belt, Nyima began cutting the apple into thin slices.

Sera watched curiously and said, "So, fair's fair, right? Now you tell me why I should like horses."

Nyima laughed. "I don't know if I can change your mind. I like them because I grew up with them. I was one of those shite-faced arseholes riding off to probably do shitty things. I rode a horse before I could even walk."

"What? Did your parents hate you or something? What kind of prick sticks a baby on a horse?"

Smiling, Nyima answered, "It wasn't quite like that. My family's wealth comes from horses. They're what made us nobility a long time ago. _The Horse Lords of the Free Marches_. We're not originally from Ostwick after all, so our title was granted because of wealth, not heritage. I'm sure you've noticed that I'm darker than most Free Marchers. When my family moved south a long time ago, they brought exotic horses with them. The rest is history, as they say. Anyway, if I didn't like horses, I would have been very miserable growing up." She'd finished cutting up the apple and handed Sera a piece. "Here."

"Want me to give this to them? Won't it bite me?"

"Put it in the palm of your hand and keep your hand flat so that she can't accidently nip your fingers. Like this." Putting the knife back in her belt, Nyima gently laid her hand over Sera's and helped her form her hand correctly.

Sera's lips quirked into a small grin and she teased, "We're holding hands now? When does the kissing start?"

If Sera was hoping to get a blush out of the noble with the suggestion of a secret affair with a city elf, then she was going to be very disappointed. "Whenever you want it to start. Just say the word."

Sera laughed. "The Lady Herald is cheeky." She let Nyima guide her hand out towards the horse and the mare happily snapped up the apple slice. Sera nearly leapt back in surprise, but caught herself when she realized that she was unharmed.

Nyima stroked the creature's nose and then guided Sera to the next stall. She handed Sera another slice of apple and said, "So, changing your mind at all?"

Holding out her hand again and letting the next horse take the apple, Sera smiled and said, "They're still stinky."

"I won't argue there," Nyima laughed. She reached out and stroked this one's nose as well. Sera tentatively raised her hand, hovered indecisively for a second, and then copied Nyima.

"So, they make you feel homesick or something?" Sera asked as she petted the creature.

"Not homesick. They're just familiar. It's hard to feel homesick when I never want to go back."

Sera raised an eyebrow. "Plan to stay Inquisitor forever?"

Nyima let out a very unladylike snort. "Absolutely not. As soon as this Breach stuff is over, I'm gone. Assuming I'm still alive. I've told Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana that a million times and if they tell you anything different you can kick them all right in the balls."

"Pfft, the scary one will never let you leave. She'd drag you back. You're the Herald of Andraste and stuff."

"I'll tell her that it's the Maker's will that I be free. I have to be able to play the religious card at some point, right?"

They walked to the next stall so that Sera could feed this horse as well. She already seemed much more comfortable, not pausing or shying away from the creature. They stood in silence for a few minutes, petting the horse, until Sera said, "So, if you won't go back to your horse-lover parents, where will you go?"

Nyima shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like having a plan is the easiest way to be found again." Then she smiled and added, "Who knows? Maybe I'll become a Red Jenny."

Sera nearly doubled over laughing. "What? You?"

Feigning indignation, Nyima said, "You don't think I'd make a good Red Jenny? You can test me out. You said some places have more than one Red Jenny, right? I'll be your assistant and you can teach me what to do."

Smiling mischievously, Sera said, "So, I can boss you around then? Make you do whatever I want?"

Nyima's lip quirked ever so slightly into a smile and she lowered her voice. "Oh, yes, anything you want."

Sera laughed again, then shook her head. "That's the thing though. Red Jennies don't take orders."

Nyima shrugged. "Well, that's just one of the many things you could teach me, I'm sure." She gave the horse the last slice of the apple and said, "So, now that you're giving horses a second chance, how about a ride?"

Sera's face went suddenly pale and she stepped back. "What? Are you daft?"

"Just around the yard," Nyima promised. "A few quick circles and then you can say that you rode a horse. Easy."

"Ugh, friggin' piss-all shite bucket arse-nut horse crap…" Sera trailed off on a long stream of curses, but she didn't go running for the hills. Nyima smiled and opened the stall door, taking down one of the saddles from its hook on the wall and draping it over the horse's back. She expertly fastened it and did the horse's reins as well before attaching a leading rope. She led the creature out of the stable and into the courtyard where a small riding ring had been set up. Sera followed warily, wringing her hands and looking ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

"Ok, so to get onto the horse, just put your left foot into the stirrup here, grab the pommel of the saddle here, and sort of hop and pull yourself up at the same time." Nyima demonstrated by putting her left foot in the stirrup and grabbing the pommel. Then, as she continued she demonstrated by climbing up onto the horse. "Swing your right leg over the saddle, put your right foot into the other stirrup, and there. You're on the horse." Sitting atop the horse, she looked down at Sera who still appeared extremely skeptical. Nyima could remember learning how to do this on a pony when she was young and being so excited then. But Sera wasn't a child and she had many years of associating horses with trouble. She couldn't expect the same girlish enthusiasm. Dismounting, Nyima grabbed the reins to keep the horse still and nodded towards the saddle. "Ok, why don't you give it a try?"

Sera edged towards the horse slowly, casting terrified glances between it and Nyima. Cautiously she placed her hands on the pommel and lifted her left foot into the stirrup. She stood frozen for a few minutes and Nyima could hear her reassuring herself under her breath. "Shite, shite, shite, shite. Why am I doing this? This is completely daft. Someone pretty smiles at you and you do whatever she says? What kind of idiot am I? Ok, ok. Frig. Just do it. Just get it over with." Nyima pretended not to hear, and turned her head to hide her smile. Sera took a deep breath and then awkwardly pulled herself into the saddle. It wasn't a smooth motion by any measure, but she managed to swing her right leg over and sit up straight. She looked surprised by her own success.

"You did it!" Nyima exclaimed.

"Andraste's tits, this is really high up," Sera said.

"Let's just take a slow walk in a circle, ok?" Nyima urged.

"Wait, it's going to –"

Nyima led the horse to the edge of the ring by the leading rope and set a steady pace. The second the horse moved Sera went deathly pale again and she pressed her body down against its neck, hugging it tightly. Nyima laughed and tried to pry Sera's arm off the horse with no success. "You can't do that," she said. "It's ok. You can sit up in the saddle. I promise nothing will happen."

"Like friggin' hell I can't!" Sera spat back. "You're trying to kill me!"

"I'm not trying to kill you. If anything bad happens you can kick my ass later. Trust me, Sera."

Sera groaned, but slowly released her grip and shakily straightened back up. She clutched the pommel tightly with both hands until her knuckles turned white. Nyima made sure the horse walked in an easy circle and after a few minutes Sera visibly relaxed. The Inquisitor heard her release her pent up breath and say, "This isn't too bad."

They walked around the circle several more times. After a while Sera even released her death grip on the pommel and cracked a small smile. As they looped back around, Nyima saw that Blackwall had come to stand outside the ring, both arms resting on the rail. He smirked behind his thick beard and said, "I never thought I'd see the day. Little Sera riding a horse. You look born to do it."

Sera stuck her tongue out at him and said, "Piss off!"

"She means thank you," Nyima added.

Blackwall chuckled and then said, "She looks ready to be taken off the lead."

Sera shot Nyima a look full of murder and said, "Don't you dare."

"Don't worry, I'm not that evil." Nyima brought the horse to a stop. "I'm done torturing you, if you want to get down."

Sera looked surprised. "What? That's it? We aren't gonna go fast?"

Nyima raised an eyebrow and grinned mischievously. "Oh? This was too tame for you?" She shared a conspiratorial look with Blackwall. "I didn't realize I was boring you. We'll have to fix that." Before Sera could realize her error, Nyima moved the other woman's right foot out of the stirrup so that she could pull herself up onto the horse as well. She sat behind Sera, reaching around her to pick up the reins and placing her own feet in the stirrups.

"Wait, I didn't –" Nyima didn't wait for Sera's protest. She spurred the horse into a brisk trot followed by a canter around the ring, receiving a sharp yelp from Sera in response. "Shite! No! Stop!" Sera screamed. She leaned back, pressing herself against Nyima as if the Inquisitor were the only thing keeping her from falling off the horse. Nyima laughed and let the horse continue for another minute or so before pulling back on the reins and bringing it to a stop.

She could hear Blackwall laughing, and she said, "See that wasn't so bad – oof!" Sera jabbed her elbow back into Nyima's stomach and the Inquisitor hunched over until her forehead touched Sera's back. She dropped the reins and clutched her stomach. "Ugh, what the hell was that for?" she groaned into Sera's shoulder blade.

"For being an arse-biscuit!" Sera said angrily. "You said I could kick your arse if anything bad happened."

"I meant like falling off," Nyima retorted, rubbing her stomach. It ached, but she'd been hit worse.

She could hear Blackwall laughing even louder. "Smooth, Inquisitor," he taunted.

"Piss off!" she shouted back.

Sera did her best to mimic Nyima's voice and added, "She means thank you!"

Nyima took a deep breath and said, "Ok, ok. Lesson learned. You can get off the horse now." She dismounted and added, "You want help getting off?"

Sera giggled at the phrasing while Nyima rolled her eyes. " _Getting off_ ," she sniggered. Then she said, "Just jump down?"

"Use the stirrup again, or you can just put both legs on one side and slide off. It's not that far. I'll catch you."

Sera eyed her skeptically. "I am so going to crush you."

"You? A tiny, little elf? I think I'll manage."

"Fine, then." Sera swung both legs over the side, grimaced, closed both eyes, and then slid off the horse. Nyima was ready and caught her under the arms, slowing Sera's fall and lowering her lightly to the ground. She really was lighter than a human woman; Nyima could see why Iron Bull wanted to toss her over the heads of their enemies instead of any of the humans. Sera opened her eyes again when she felt herself back on solid ground and let out a sigh of relief.

Blackwall pushed himself away from the rail, still grinning. "You'll be an expert rider in no time, Sera. Provided you don't kill your teacher first."

Sera glared at him. "You can both keep your stinky horses."

Nyima frowned. "Don't tell me I ruined horses all over again for you. I thought you were starting to like them."

"Not them. Was starting to like you. Hate you now," she said petulantly, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

Nyima grinned and put an arm around Sera's shoulder. "Aw, come on. You know you still like me. I'm friggin' adorable."

Blackwall barked out a laugh. "She's got you there, Sera."

"Smug as hell, I'll give ya that," Sera mumbled, while cracking a small grin. She pushed Nyima away playfully and added, "Go take a bath. You stink of horse."

"I'll take a bath if you promise to ride again with me sometime."

"You're so full of shite. You'll take a bath either way." Sera rolled her eyes, but her body language revealed that she wasn't truly annoyed. "Fine. You can scare the piss out of me again sometime. Might hit you again though."

Nyima smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."


	6. Metaphorically Speaking

_Some of you are probably going to think that I am making this up, but I swear I am not. You can actually get Cassandra to preemptively turn the Inquisitor down – and it is amazing. If you have never gotten this scene, then I highly recommend looking it up on youtube. I got it completely on accident and laughed so hard at the awkwardness. In fact, I was so tickled by it that I decided it had to make its way into the story somehow. Truly, we are all blessed._

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 **Metaphorically Speaking**

Sera sat at the windowsill in her room, doodling in her little sketchbook, when Nyima entered. The Inquisitor plopped down next to the other woman with a huff, leaning back and supporting her weight on her hands. From her angle she could see the drawing – mostly little doodles of Sera kicking Corypheus in the groin or shooting him full of arrows, with a picture of Vivienne with her pants down around her ankles thrown in for fun.

Sera glanced at the Inquisitor before returning to her sketch. "Hey, you. What's on?"

Over the past few weeks Nyima had developed a comfortable routine of spending a lot of her free time in Sera's room. It now seemed the closest thing to a refuge in all of Skyhold. Her advisors hardly ever visited the tavern, meaning they never came looking for her, and Sera had little interest in trying to tell her how she should be running the Inquisition. She'd give her opinion if asked – usually just a vague encouragement to be good to the little people and mean to the people that deserved it – but Sera never had ideas about _how_ to run things. She made it a little easier for Nyima to forget that she was supposed to make those decisions. Things just seemed more straightforward with Sera.

Nyima knew that she could probably just lock herself in her own room to get away from everyone else too, but the loneliness of it drove her crazy. She wanted to be with someone – needed to know that she wasn't alone – but she also wanted to not take it all so seriously for an hour or two. No one was better at not taking things seriously than Sera. As for Sera, she didn't seem to mind all the time Nyima spent in her room, even brightening up whenever she saw the Inquisitor. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they didn't say a word. It was simple, comfortable.

Now, however, Nyima felt eager to talk. "So, Cassandra just turned me down."

Sera's head snapped up from her drawing and she stared at Nyima, brows furrowed. "Wait. What?"

Nyima shook her head, not sure what exactly to think herself. "I was minding my own business and Cassandra came up to me and asked me if we could speak in private. I said sure, not thinking much of it. Then she… well, she told me we couldn't be together. That she didn't like me like that."

"Andraste's tits," Sera cursed under her breath, sounding incredulous. "Were you two… you know?" She paused, then added, "Sex. I mean having sex."

"Not that I know of," Nyima said with a laugh. "If we were, I had no idea. No, I think this was a preemptive strike. Making sure I knew better than to try."

Sera tossed the sketchpad on the table and clutched her side, laughing. "Oh, that is just piss-all perfect! You didn't even ask, but she turned you down anyway?" She literally rolled with laughter, rocking from side to side and even accidentally jabbing Nyima with her elbow.

The Inquisitor didn't mind the laughter at her expense and even laughed with her. It _was_ ridiculous, and it felt good to have someone else validate her disbelief. When they'd both settled down a bit, she said, "Well, I guess it's nice to know that I don't have a shot. If I ever wanted to try. Saves time."

Grinning, Sera said, "Tell the truth, did you want to get in her pants?"

"Eh, I hadn't really given it any thought. Cassandra's not bad looking though. Probably couldn't have complained. She's a hopeless romantic though. I'm sure I'd never live up to her impossible expectations. It probably wouldn't be fun after a while."

Sera's smile grew until she looked downright impish. "Oh, you're all about the fun? Tickle their tits, bed 'em, and leave 'em?"

Nyima rolled her eyes. "Now you're making me sound like an ass. Maybe I've just never met the right woman. I don't know. But I don't build it all up in my head like Cassandra does. It either is or it isn't. Maybe I don't like having a plan." She leaned back even further, lowering herself to her elbows and looking up at the ceiling before casting a glance back at Sera. "So, if you want to turn me down too, now's the time apparently. It seems that it's best not to let me get any ideas," she added with a chuckle. "Cassandra obviously doesn't believe that I can be trusted."

Sera gave her best leering up and down look before saying, "Well, you're pretty – nice eyes, nice hair, nice tits. You can keep chatting me up. For now."

"Watch out," Nyima warned, trying to sound serious, but not succeeding in hiding the humor in her voice. "Once I start pursuing you I won't be able to stop myself. Apparently. I'm learning a lot about myself today."

"Maybe I won't want you to stop. We'll see, yeah?"

For a split second Nyima wasn't sure if they were still joking anymore. Sera had the uncanny ability to be deadly serious and yet make it sound like a farce. She could ramble out a long stream of nonsense and then deliver crisp insight with pinpoint accuracy. In the beginning, Nyima had assumed Sera's way of thinking amounted to just amusing and playful – fun to listen to, but not very relevant to somber matters. As she'd gotten to know the other woman better, however, she'd realized that Sera saw things much more clearly than their companions ever gave her credit for. Every joke held a kernel of truth and every flippant comment held comprehension. And at the moment Nyima was no longer certain whether they were joking about Nyima's unfortunate love-life, or whether she really had asked Sera for permission to pursue her and the other woman had granted it.

Suddenly feeling flustered, Nyima cleared her throat awkwardly and said, "Well, then, I guess I should go get you flowers or something."

Raising her upper-lip into a snarl and picking up her sketchpad again, Sera indicated that she clearly didn't think much of that. She went back to her drawing and said, "Piss on that. Flowers are stupid."

The Inquisitor really didn't think that she understood the situation any better. She'd flirted with Sera plenty, but she never thought that either of them meant anything by it. Not that Sera wasn't cute – in fact, she was quite attractive – but Nyima had more pressing issues on her mind. Truth be told, Nyima's thoughts had been more preoccupied with wondering how she might get out of being the Herald of Andraste than anything else. But had she been moving towards something else with Sera all along and not even realized it? Did she want to? Nyima didn't know what to think.

"Well, anyway, thanks for listening to my pathetic romantic troubles," Nyima said, trying to keep the tone of the conversation light.

"It was hilarious, yeah?" Sera answered with a grin over her sketchpad. "If anyone else in camp turns you down, you should let me know. We can keep a record or something. My money is on Josie next."

Rubbing her temple, Nyima said, "Ok, first off, I could get Josephine if I wanted to. I've been manipulating people like her my whole life. Second off, I'd really rather not be the record holder for being turned down the most. Turned down without even asking, I might add. It's pretty sad."

Sera shrugged. "Makes you people though. Would Andraste's Hairy Eyeball turn you down if she really thought you were touched by the Maker or something? Nah, she'd be shoving everyone's face in the dirt screaming 'Me first! Me first!' Deep down she thinks you're just you. And that's better, innit?"

Nyima blinked in surprise. She'd spent so long trying to convince everyone around her that she wasn't actually touched by Andraste. She had never felt special for having the mark on her hand, just incredibly unlucky. The thought that everyone expected miracles from her, and the knowledge that she didn't have some divine powers to deliver on those expectations, constantly ate away at her. She didn't mind it being used as propaganda, but she loathed having the people close to her actually buy into the ridiculous fairy stories. Her greatest fear was that she would fail and then everyone would think that she lied or betrayed them. It seemed like she never got anywhere with the core members of the Inquisition, that they clung to the belief that she was some prophet and had some sort of divine wisdom, but if Cassandra could speak to her like a friend, not just some worshipper, and draw a boundary line, then that had to be a good sign. At least, at the core, Cassandra still believed that Nyima was human.

"Wow… Sera, that was… That was exactly what I needed to hear, I think."

Sera rolled her eyes. "Pfft, don't get all sappy on me." She ripped a section out of her sketchpad and handed it to Nyima. "Here."

Nyima took the slip of paper and looked at it. Sera had doodled a two part cartoon of Cassandra stabbing Nyima in the heart in the first panel, and then Nyima and Sera ganging up to attack Cassandra in the second panel. Sera, of course, was shooting some arrows, and Nyima was sneaking up with a knife. She'd written "sexy" next to the doodle of herself and "stabby" next to Nyima's portrait.

Nyima laughed. "I hope this is a metaphor."

"A what?"

"Um, when something seems like it means one thing, but then it can mean something else too. So, I'm saying that I hope this means that you don't really want to attack Cassandra, but it's more like saying we're on a team."

Sera nodded and pointed. "Yeah, that one."

"Then it's very sweet. Thank you, Sera."

Sera waved a hand dismissively, but also smiled. "Keep your honey-words to yourself." She tossed her sketchpad back onto the table and stood up. "So, wanna grab something to eat?"

Nyima folded the slip of paper, put it into her pocket, and stood up. "Sure. Plus I could use a drink. Let's find Iron Bull."

"It's all good, innit."


	7. Tit Cookies

_For any readers of my All Things Pass series, you may recall an author's note in which I mentioned that I had previously been using "Bromance" as a placeholder title for a chapter that delved into the friendship between Shepard and Garrus. You may also recall that I lamented my choice to ultimately change the title. And now, numerous months later, I still regret that decision. In the table of contents that I use to keep track of all the chapters in this story, I wrote down a couple of ideas for titles for this chapter. Most of them were, quite frankly, god awful. On a whim and because it made me giggle I wrote down "Tit Cookies" as an optional title. As time went on I found myself growing more and more attached to this silly title. Now, faced with the decision of whether to scrap that working title in favor of something more serious, I can't help but think back to my deep regret over changing the title of that other chapter. So, let's ask ourselves, what would Sera do? Clearly, Tit Cookies is a superior title to all other options and we are all better off for it. You're welcome._

 _Anyway, I can't be the only person who felt cheated that we didn't actually get a scene of Sera and the Inquisitor baking cookies together. It was a nice idea and I like Sera's backstory and all, but talk about burying the lead._

 _Again, many thanks to Beast of Burton for editing this chapter. Remind me that I owe you a bottle of liquor or something._

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 **Tit Cookies**

"Hey, you! You have time? It's not a question. Let's go!"

Nyima stopped in the doorway to Sera's room and tilted her head.

"I've got something I want to do for you," Sera explained. "Just come. You won't need your gear and stuff."

 _Well_ , Nyima thought, _I was looking for a diversion_. _Sera usually finds good ways to kill time_. She smirked and raised an eyebrow suggestively. "With you I'll do anything."

Sera smirked back good-naturedly. "I bet, yeah. Come on, let's do it." Without further explanation Sera turned around and climbed out the window. Nyima followed, hesitantly, crawling out onto the second story roof of the tavern. Sera led her a little ways from the window and towards the edge of the roof. She sat with her legs draped over the edge and picked up a small bundle of cloth that'd been set out there. Nyima sat down next to her without a word, eyeing the bundle curiously. Sera unwrapped it to reveal two large cookies and handed one to the Inquisitor.

Nyima took it and said, "Um, thanks. So, we're eating? On a roof?"

Sera eyed her own cookie as if looking at a rat and then took a bite. Her nose wrinkled in disgust and she immediately spat it back out. Nyima hoped no one was walking down below.

"They're horrible, right?" Sera said, sticking out her tongue. "And raisins, ugh! I friggin' still hate cookies."

Nyima took a tentative bite of her cookie and she had to admit that it wasn't very good. She wondered where Sera had stolen these from. "You hate cookies?" Nyima asked. "Why are we eating them then?"

Sera glanced away for a second, looking uncharacteristically shy. Then she looked back to Nyima and answered, "I got caught stealing when I was little, yeah? You get alienage or worse for that, but the 'Lady Emmald' took me in. She was sick and couldn't have children. I had no parents. It worked out." She looked out at the rest of Skyhold, but her eyes were clearly seeing the past. "Anyway, she gets a year sicker, so I ask her about cookies. Because mums make cookies. I can pass that down, or something. Turns out, she couldn't cook. She missed that talk with her mum. The ones she 'made' she bought and pretended." She turned back to face Nyima and suddenly there was a bitter expression on her face. "Aw, right? Well, no, she was a bitch. She hid buying them by keeping me away from the baker. She did that by lying that he didn't like me, didn't like elves. She let me hate so she could protect her pride. I hated him so much and I hated…" She bit off whatever she was about to say with a frustrated sigh. Sera didn't say anything for a while and Nyima didn't push. Finally, she said, "Well, she died, and I hate pride. 'Pride cookies.'"

For a second Nyima was at a loss for words. She never thought Sera would tell her so much about herself. The other woman had been unusually guarded about her past ever since joining the Inquisition. But now so many things came into focus. Sera wasn't nearly as unfamiliar with the nobility as she liked to pretend. She'd seen behind the gilded mask first hand and understood the lies. And she knew something about what families were supposed to be like. She'd sought normalcy only to come up empty handed.

Unsure how Sera would react, but trusting her gut, Nyima gently laid her hand over Sera's and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Sera shrugged, but she didn't shy away from the other woman's touch.

"Did you love her?" Nyima asked.

Sera furrowed her brow and tilted her head. "What?"

"Did you love Lady Emmald, or did you just try to love her?" Loving and losing was not so bad. At least then Sera would have known that love was real, even if it could be betrayed or lost. Love that ended left scars which ached at first, but eventually healed with time. But trying to love and not succeeding was worse. It left scars that remained red and raw and open, never quite healing. Those wounds would have made Sera feel like love was just a lie, that it wasn't real.

Seeming to catch Nyima's meaning, Sera answered, "Guess I tried."

Nyima nodded her understanding, but she didn't know what she could do to make the situation better. She wished that she could correct Lady Emmald's mistake and show Sera that she could care about someone without it being a lie. No wonder Sera had been suspicious of so many things. Nyima understood why Sera was both skeptical of the Chantry, yet secretly wanted it to be true. Why she'd asked Nyima after Haven if she was still herself – afraid that someone she had wanted to trust had proven to be false yet again. Sera was trying to trust Nyima, to reach out. Nyima only wished that she knew how to demonstrate to the other woman that her trust wasn't misplaced.

Luckily, Sera was already a step ahead. "But this is great!" Sera said, perking up and offering a smile. "You're great! So I thought maybe me and you could make some… I don't know. 'Us cookies?' Because then I could like them again." She rubbed her neck and looked down. "Ugh, it's stupid."

Nyima squeezed Sera's hand, which prompted the other woman to look up at her, and Nyima gave her a smile. "That sounds like a great idea, Sera. I'd love to make some cookies with you."

"Really?" Sera asked excitedly, sounding genuinely shocked. "Sounded daft every step to me."

"I'm going to be honest with you: I don't know how to make cookies either. My mom also didn't cook and never bothered to teach me. But I'll get a recipe from the cooks and we'll take over the kitchen and learn together."

"Friggin' nobles, right?" Sera grinned and shook her head. "Not a one knows how to make a cookie to save their lives."

"So, can we get off the roof now?" Nyima asked.

"Oh, yes please. Smells like bird and dank. This part, not a good idea."

They climbed back into the tavern through the window and Nyima led the way down to the kitchens. When she stepped into the room all the serving girls froze, wide-eyed. An older woman with graying brown hair and wearing an apron quickly came over, executing a perfect curtsy before saying, "Inquisitor! To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Nyima heard Sera let out a derisive snort behind her, but she ignored it. "I'm sorry to bother you ladies," Nyima answered with a kind smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

"Oh, not at all! We're just doing minor prep work, your grace. We won't be truly busy until a few hours before supper time."

"Good. I was actually hoping that I might take over your kitchen for about an hour or so."

The woman blinked as if not sure if she'd heard Nyima correctly. "Uh, you want to cook something, your grace? I would be happy to fix something for you."

"I appreciate the offer," Nyima replied politely, "but it's actually more about the experience. My friend and I want to cook something ourselves. If now is a bad time, we can come back later."

The cook shook her head. "No, your worship. This is your kitchen. Any time you want to use it, it is at your disposal. I will clear my girls out of here." She turned and began ordering the serving girls to clean up their spaces, snapping her fingers at them to hurry. Nyima and Sera waited as all the other women left.

As the head cook was about to leave, Nyima stopped her and whispered, "Could I ask you for one more thing?"

"Of course, your worship. Anything."

"Would you happen to have a cookie recipe I could borrow?"

"Um… cookies, your worship?"

"Yes, I know it's a little odd. Do you have a recipe?"

"Um, yes, I do. I'll fetch it for you." She bustled over to a small wooden box on one of the counters and rifled through a small stack of cards within. She pulled one out and gave it to the Inquisitor.

Nyima took it with a nod of her head and said, "Thank you so much. I appreciate it. I'll leave it on top of the box for you when we're finished."

"Of course, your grace. Take all the time you want." She curtsied again and exited the kitchen.

Nyima turned to Sera and held up the card with the recipe. "Well, step one accomplished."

Sera snatched the card from her and then gave a less than elegant curtsy. "Of course, your graceful worshipness," she teased.

Rolling her eyes, Nyima turned her attention to the rest of the kitchen. It occurred to her that this was probably her first time ever stepping foot into a kitchen to actually make something. She could remember scampering in and out of the kitchens on her family's estate when she was just a kid, begging the cooks for treats. Later, when she was older, she would sometimes sneak out through the kitchens; the servants liked her well enough to keep her comings and goings secret from her parents. But she'd never spent much time in a kitchen before. She really didn't know her way around.

"Um, so what does the card say to do?" she asked.

Reading, Sera answered, "Hm, first there's a list of things we need. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar…" She trailed off and then said, "Shite, this is a lot of stuff. Where do we find it?"

Nyima shrugged. "I'm sure it's all in here somewhere. Let's start looking." They split up and fumbled about the kitchen like two blind people, checking every container or drawer or cupboard until they had cobbled together all the ingredients. They argued briefly about how to determine what a cup was or a teaspoon and how they were supposed to mix all the ingredients together, but eventually they were making progress.

As they worked, Nyima asked, "So, what was this Lady Emmald like?"

Sera scrunched up her face, and for a second Nyima feared that she had overstepped the bounds and that Sera would refuse to answer the question. But then Sera said, "She worked a lot. Liked numbers and counting and stuff. Everything always had to be perfect. Everything fit into its own box." She shrugged and added, "I tried to be like that for a while, you know? Thought that if I fit into the box she wanted that she'd…" Shaking her head, Sera let out a frustrated growl. "Ugh, this is stupid. We shouldn't talk about this. She's dead, so it doesn't matter anymore."

But Nyima decided to push a little further. She knew that it might backfire and Sera might retreat back into her shell, but now was as good a time as any to ask. "You thought it'd be easier if you fit in? That she'd treat you like her real daughter?"

Sera scowled and forcefully cracked an egg on the side of the mixing bowl. "I don't know," she mumbled. "Didn't work anyway. I wasn't one of them. I was too elfy, too low-born. More like a dog or something. She could treat me like her kid when she felt like it, but I wasn't really. I didn't fit into the box right."

In her mind's eye, Nyima saw a younger version of Sera trying so hard to fit into the noble lifestyle. Learning to read and write in an effort to impress Lady Emmald. Trying to be quiet and well-behaved. Not understanding why she could never go to the balls or talk to the guests who came to the estate. Her only source of company the serving staff at the house, but even then not belonging because of her tie to Lady Emmald. Trapped between two different realms of society and yet not fitting into either. It must have been a lonely existence, especially for a child.

"How long were you with her?" Nyima asked.

"Dunno," Sera answered with a shrug. "A few years. She was already getting sick when she took me in. Guess that's why she did it. Wanted to play mum for a while to see what it was like."

They were both quiet for a little while, and then Nyima said, "Well, for what it's worth, Sera, I'm glad you don't fit into the box. All my life I've known people who did, and they were boring. I like you the way you are."

Sera gave her a sideways glance and grinned. "You always have some honey-words ready, yeah? That how you get other women into your bed?"

Nyima felt color rising in her cheeks and she said, "I'm being honest. I've never met anyone like you before, and I like that about you. People like Lady Emmald are everywhere. But there's only one of you."

Sera didn't say anything, but she did smile. Shortly, they had a batch of cookie dough in front of them and Sera pinched off a piece, rolling it between her fingers. "Is it supposed to be like this?" she asked skeptically. "All weird and sticky?"

"I don't know," Nyima replied. "I've never done this before, remember?" She also broke off some of the dough and tasted it. "Doesn't taste bad," she added.

Sera copied her. "Hm, yeah, not bad. So, now what?"

Nyima checked the card. "Ok, apparently we just put spoonfuls on a tray and put it in the oven and wait for a few minutes." She started putting blobs of the batter onto the tray in front of them, wondering how big the spoonfuls were supposed to be. She looked over to see what Sera was doing and saw the other woman giggling as she put two huge mounds of batter side by side on the tray.

"Look!" Sera laughed. "Tit cookies!"

Nyima tried to scowl at first but couldn't help laughing. "Really, Sera?"

"What? Jealous? They are beautiful, aren't they?"

"Cookies aren't supposed to look like that."

"The whole point of this was to make me like cookies again, yeah? Well, I definitely like tit cookies more than pride cookies."

"I thought we were calling them 'us cookies.'"

Sera looked down at Nyima's chest, then grinned and shrugged. "Still seems like it fits. Both got tits, yeah?"

Nyima rolled her eyes. "And here I thought this was supposed to be a symbol of our friendship or something."

"What? I _like_ your tits. See, _like_ means we're friends, right? They could be bigger sure, but I still like 'em. That's what friends say."

Laughing, Nyima said, "No, friends don't exactly say that."

"You're impossible to please."

Nyima finished putting the batter out on the tray and slid it into the oven. They stood, staring at the great iron contraption.

"So, we wait now?" Sera asked.

"Guess so."

For a while they just watched the oven, leaning against the counter with their arms crossed, and then Sera said, "Alright, fair's fair. What's your mum like?"

Nyima tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "My mother? She's… normal, I guess. My parents work a lot. I told you before that our power comes from horses. My parents are very interested in expanding the family power. My father handles business. My mother handles the politics. She's very religious, so she does most of her politicking within the Chantry. If she wasn't at the Chantry, then she'd be entertaining its highest ranked members at the estate."

"You like them?"

"They're not bad people," Nyima answered noncommittally.

"Yeah, but do you like them?" Sera pressed.

Nyima rubbed the back of her neck. "They… um… I guess they are sort of like Lady Emmald in that they want everything and everyone to have its place. In my family, you either serve the family or you don't have a place in it. And… well… I don't really have a place in mine."

"Wha'zat mean?"

Nyima considered how to explain, frowning as she thought. Finally, she said, "You know how many brothers and sisters I have, Sera? Five. So, there's six of us total. And to my parents, all six of us have jobs to do in order to serve the family. No one gets a pass. Marc is easy. He's the oldest, so he inherits and becomes the main branch of the family. My second oldest brother, he preps to take over secondary property and just in case something happens to Marc. My older sister prepares to marry the highest ranking nobleman that my parents can arrange. Me? At least I get the choice of following after my sister and marrying some lord I don't even like, or joining the Chantry. But neither of those things appeals to me. My younger brother and sister get essentially the same choice. Difference is they're both willing to play along. I'm not. I've always been the only real rebel in my family. Therefore, I don't fit into the family. I'm useless to them. So, mostly, I just don't feel like I belong with them. And because I don't fit in… it makes it hard to like them."

Sera studied Nyima for a moment and then smiled. "Guess we both don't fit in the box, huh?"

Nyima smiled back. "I guess we don't."

The cookies still didn't look done, so Nyima turned back to the counter and looked at the mess that they'd made. Utensils and bowls and ingredients lay strewn all over the place. Perhaps she should clean up a little. As she was about to start, however, she realized that she'd set her right hand in a pile of flour and quickly lifted it. The white powder stood out starkly against the chestnut brown of her hand and she had a sudden idea. Grinning, she looked at Sera, who was still watching the oven. Without warning she smacked Sera in the face – not hard, but enough to leave a flour handprint on her cheek.

Sera sputtered and pushed her hand away. "Andraste's tits! What was that for?"

Nyima laughed and quickly ran to the far end of the counter, well out of Sera's reach. The other woman touched her face and when she looked at her fingers saw the white powder. She narrowed her eyes at Nyima and growled, "You little… I am so going to stomp you!" She placed both hands into the flour pile and then took off after the Inquisitor. Nyima laughed and ran, trying to keep a counter between herself and the other woman at all times. For a while that worked well and Sera ran back and forth futilely trying to get to Nyima. Then, when she grew frustrated, Sera jumped up onto the counter and lunged at her. Nyima yelped in surprise as Sera tackled her and pushed her up against the wall.

With a triumphant shout Sera smeared the flour on her hands all over Nyima's face until the Inquisitor sputtered, "Stop! You win!"

"Ha!" Sera exclaimed. "Shows you!"

Wiping away some of the flour on her own face, Nyima looked at the handprint on Sera's cheek and began laughing again. "I got you pretty good though."

"Cheap shot."

"You're just mad that you didn't think of it first," Nyima teased, savoring the exaggerated pout on Sera's face. Then, in an offer of truce, she added, "Here, I'll help you wipe it off." Nyima reached up and began to wipe away the mark with her thumb and tips of her fingers, and then suddenly stopped. It occurred to her how intimate the moment must look from the outside. Sera still had her cornered against the wall and Nyima stood essentially stroking her face. Sera's skin felt soft and warm beneath her fingers and Nyima was instantly hyper aware of how close the rest of her body was. Her eyes flickered down to Sera's lips for a brief second, noting how full and pink they were, but she forced herself to look back up at Sera's eyes. That wasn't much better. She realized for the first time that Sera had strikingly beautiful, gray eyes. She'd never thought of gray as a warm color, but now she couldn't think of a better word to describe it. In fact, as Nyima looked at Sera now, she thought that the other woman was almost heartbreakingly gorgeous. A sudden desire to run her hands through Sera's hair, to lean in and kiss her, arose in Nyima's chest and she had to fight to push it back down. She really did care about Sera and the last thing she wanted to do was throw that away because she suddenly realized that she might also like to get in her pants.

Nyima knew herself. Knew that she was just as quick to discard a romance as she was to pursue it. It'd served her well in the past – the tendency to not get emotionally involved. She could go to a ball, charm a bard or a serving girl into her bed, and then sever ties before anything ever got back to her family. And in a world where the seasons changed and players in the Great Game came and went, it was best not to be sentimental.

But Sera deserved better than that. She'd tried to love another person, someone who should have been like a mother, only to come up empty handed. She'd trusted Nyima with that part of herself and now the Inquisitor had a chance to show her that putting her faith in someone else wasn't always in vain. The last thing she wanted to do was take advantage of Sera's trust or her vulnerability. To be a good friend she needed to put Sera above her own desires.

Nyima had been staring at Sera for quite some time. The air between them felt thick, and Nyima felt the desire to lean in and kiss Sera rise up in her chest again. After wrestling that back down, she went to say something but found her throat suddenly dry. Panicking slightly, she surprised herself when a curse managed to slip through her lips. "Shit."

Sera furrowed her brow in confusion and Nyima had to think fast. Then, she remembered the cookies in the oven and said, "Uh, shit. We forgot about the cookies. We should check on them." She edged away from the wall and out of their precariously close position. Hurrying over to the oven she looked inside to see that the cookies were brown, maybe slightly burnt around the edges. She grabbed a cloth and pulled out the tray, setting it down on the counter. Sera joined her and they both stared down at their creation.

"Doesn't look like shite," Sera pointed out.

"True," Nyima agreed. "They might have been in a minute too long, but they definitely look right."

They admired their handiwork for a few minutes while the cookies cooled, and then Sera picked her tit cookie up off the tray, grinned, and held it out between them. "Want half'a my tits?"

Nyima smiled. "I thought you'd never ask." She tugged at the other end, splitting the cookie in two. They both eyed their halves, a little unsure, looked back at each other, and nodded. At the same time they each took a bite.

Nyima was relieved to find that it wasn't half bad. Maybe not the best cookie she'd ever had in her life, but for two people who'd never cooked anything before it was a freaking miracle. Sera also looked pleased and continued to eat her cookie. "This is great!" she said. "We actually did it!"

Nodding, Nyima continued to eat as well. "So, do you think you can like cookies again?"

Sera shrugged. "Dunno. But I like 'us cookies' or 'tit cookies' or whatever we're calling them. I like that we made them. Together."

Nyima smiled. "I like them too. Maybe next time we'll make a whole bunch, drag everyone out onto the roof, and then shower them with tit cookies!"

Sera's eyes lit up with excitement. "That would be legend, yeah? And Cassandra would hate it. It would be great!" Sera finished eating her cookie and then said, "Hey, listen. Thanks for doing this. I know it was kind of daft. But it felt good, yeah?"

Flashing a warm smile, Nyima answered, "It was fun, Sera. Your daft ideas usually are. I'll make cookies with you anytime."


	8. Perfectly Imperfect

_This chapter was, quite frankly, a nightmare. I tend to spend a great deal of time thinking things through before I ever start to write, so while I do extensive editing on every chapter the edits tend not to be too substantive. It is extremely rare for me to deem large chunks of work unsalvageable and completely scrap it. But that is precisely what happened with this chapter, not once, but twice. The original version of this chapter closely tracked the in game scene of when the Inquisitor and Sera finally get together and centered on Nyima's point of view. It was, on my part, a misguided attempt to be respectful of the source material and not disturb the canon. I finished the chapter months ago, yet I would often return to it and tinker with it. There was something wrong, although I couldn't quite place my finger on it. I knew that I was unhappy with it, but no amount of alterations seemed to fix the problem._

 _My first substantive fix happened when I decided that what was missing was a chapter where Sera comes to the same sort of realization that she wants to be more like how Nyima did in the last chapter. I wrote two additional scenes, intending to plug them in as a chapter before this one. Yet, even after the additional work, I still wasn't happy. I agonized over it, not able to figure out what was so wrong. And then, finally, it hit me. The problem was that I was too married to the scene from the game. And thinking about it more, I realized that the scene in the game has always felt disjointed – it has nice moments, but for the most part it comes off a bit clumsy. I also realized that my solution only created more problems. I had been forced to introduce a couple more themes that, while maybe interesting, would have required more time to fully flesh out in the way that they deserved. Then, to make it all work I constructed a scenario where Sera was forced to reach an epiphany and then sit on her feelings. And this is just fundamentally wrong for Sera. The second Sera has a shift in feelings she should act on those feelings. She isn't the type to brood._

 _The solution turned out to be rather obvious, although it was a long road to get there. I ended up completely scrapping the original chapter and the additional chapter I had written. Starting from scratch I rewrote the chapter from Sera's point of view. It was amazing how many problems this fixed and how it actually fit into the overarching story so much better. Often a change in point of view is all you need to see a problem in a new light._

 _Anyway, the only remaining problem was figuring out a catalyst for getting them together. With a fresh slate, I decided to touch on the sitting in judgment aspect of the game. Specifically, how if you think about it, it is pretty messed up. When I was younger, I used to think that being a judge would be great. Then I worked for my first judge, and I remember seeing a sentencing for the first time. It shook me to the core. There is a wide difference between applying the law to facts in a civil case, and actually having to look someone in the eye and tell him or her that they are going to spend the next several years in prison. I can't even imagine handing down a death sentence. Holding someone's fate in your hands is a daunting task that you can't really appreciate until you've stared it in the face. Judges carry a great weight, but they are individuals who asked to shoulder that burden. They trained and worked to get to that position._

 _So, it is mindboggling to me to think about an individual who is just thrown into that situation. Especially for someone like Nyima who would be a devastated by that weight on her soul. Even worse, she's not applying any laws; rather, she's just doing what she thinks is right meaning that she bears all the moral weight of each decision. It's really quite bleak, and I imagine Nyima would neither enjoy it nor come out of it unscathed. So, this seemed like a good catalyst and a theme worth touching on. And finally, this chapter was completed._

 _One final note before we begin. As you can see I've changed the author's note to italics rather than bold. Some people have commented that bold is hard on their eyes and I don't want anyone to be uncomfortable. It's a simple fix so I figured why not just switch to italics. I'll go back through and alter the other author's notes as well._

 _~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~._

 **Perfectly Imperfect**

Sera takes the steps up to the keep two at a time. Then three. Then four. She tries for five, lands on the edge and slips off, nearly busting her butt. She grins, tries again, almost regains her balance this time, but still not quite, and falls back to four. She would try again, but she runs out of stairs, so she shakes her head and gives up for now.

Her vision swims a bit as she goes from outside to inside the dark castle. It feels even gloomier than usual, though she can't tell immediately why as she blinks to readjust her vision. But once everything is back in focus she notices that the main hall is packed with people, tightly squished together and with their backs all to her. Confused, Sera looks around and wonders what in the Maker's ass all these people are doing here. They don't look like soldiers – more like regular farmers or tradesmen wearing their best clothes, the type they would only wear on feast days. It looks like whole families of people have shown up. From way up front Sera can hear a voice, or maybe of couple of voices, speaking, but she's too far back and there's too many people to make it out.

Still completely lost, Sera notices Varric standing by his usual favorite spot near the fireplace, his arms crossed and his face scrunched up in a serious scowl. She walks over to him and says, "Hey, you. What's all this about?"

He turns his head to look at her, the sour expression still on his face. "Oh, hi, Buttercup. You need something?"

She lets out a snort of annoyance at not being heard properly the first time, but repeats, "I _said_ : what's all this shite about?"

"It's a court, I suppose. The Inquisitor is sitting in judgment."

"Sitting in what now?" Sera asks, raising an eyebrow. "What are you on about?"

Varric sighs and uncrosses his arms to lean over the table that serves as his desk. "People bring their problems and ask her to tell them what the right answer is. Criminals are brought to her too, and she has to decide how to punish them. I guess people think that because she's some prophet it's like having Andraste herself tell them what justice is."

Sera recoils at this and looks at him like he's lost his mind. "She doesn't want to do any of that."

"I know. You're preaching to the choir, Buttercup."

"Whose bright idea then?" she demands, spoiling for a fight.

He shrugs. "I don't think it was anyone's idea. Probably people just kept coming with their problems and after a while it became too many to ignore. Gaining power means having to keep it, and that means exercising it from time to time."

Sera narrows her eyes at him. Deep down she knows that he doesn't like it either; she knows that he cares about Nyima too and he sees her as a person. But she resents the way that he just accepts it. A necessary evil, he would say. Bad things are always necessary when they're happening to someone else.

Leaving Varric behind, she pushes her way into the crowd, ignoring the grumbles that follow after. She works her way to the front and sees Nyima sitting on the throne, head turned to the side, her face dark and shadowed as she presses the tips of her fingers against her forehead. Kneeling before her, separated from the crowd, a man in iron chains silently weeps. He's older with a frazzled gray beard that obscures much of his features. The scene is serious and disturbing and Sera finds herself frozen in place. She had intended to disrupt the event somehow, but now she can't think of what to do. She knows that she has stumbled onto something grim. The silence stretches and becomes uncomfortable.

Finally, Josephine standing nearby with her stack of papers and quill clears her throat and says, "Inquisitor, what is your judgment in this matter?"

Nyima shifts in her seat and straightens, the shadows of her face fading as she looks at the man before her. "I have heard the allegations against you. The witnesses against you. I have also heard what you had to say." She raises her eyes to look at the crowd behind the man. Her gaze lingers briefly on Sera, a small jolt of surprise, but then she looks away. "You've been accused of multiple murders. If I found you guilty, I would have no choice but to sentence you to death for such crimes."

A murmur of approval from the crowd. Clearly they've made up their minds.

"Yet, everything I have heard amounts to suspicion."

Suddenly the room grows tense and quiet. Sera can practically feel the displeasure building up from the crowd.

"There is a strong impulse to bring someone to account for this crime. But nothing I have heard has convinced me of any one truth. Maybe you killed those people. Maybe you did not. I truly do not know. And I will not sentence a man to death on a maybe. Release him."

The anger and uproar from the crowd fills the room as a soldier comes forward and unlocks the man's chains. Sera feels suddenly uncomfortable amongst all these people and she wishes she hadn't left her bow in her room.

Nyima stands, ignoring the noises from the crowd and says, "I want someone to escort this man out of here." Then she steps down from the raised platform where the throne sits, heading towards the door that leads up to the Inquisitor's room.

"Inquisitor, there are more people awaiting your judgment," Josephine calls out, although she also looks worried about the angry mob.

"I think we've done enough for today," Nyima says, and exits the main hall.

Inquisition soldiers wisely begin to herd the people out of the hall. In the commotion Sera follows after Nyima unseen. As she slips out of the main hall and the noise from the crowd grows faint, Sera stares at the door to the Inquisitor's room. She's never actually been in this part of Skyhold. It feels like a long walk up the stairs to the door. She tries the handle and finds it unlocked so she pushes it open gently. There's another set of stairs and as Sera climbs into the room she is struck by how lavish it is. Everything looks expensive, from the extremely large bed in the center to the great wooden desk. But it's big too and so far away from everything else. Has Nyima really been alone here all this time? Separated from everyone?

But Sera doesn't dwell on the details of the room. Instead her attention is drawn to Nyima standing by the desk, back to Sera, hands spread out on the table, head bowed so that her hair falls like a curtain over her face. She is still and tense, as if stuck in a trance. Sera walks over and stands beside her, nudging her lightly with her elbow to get her attention. Nyima raises her head and looks surprised to see Sera, but it fades quickly and she doesn't tell Sera to leave.

"Hey, you," Sera says quietly. She isn't sure what else to say so she just waits.

Nyima takes in a deep breath. "I'm sure I must look silly right now. My day to day is fighting demons and closing fade rifts, but this is the thing that gets under my skin."

But Sera doesn't think it's silly. "You can't stick people's problems with arrows."

Nyima forces a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Exactly."

They are both quiet for a while. Sera still doesn't know what to say. Nyima looks stiff, like armor strapped on too tight, like she can't move, can't breathe. A buckle stretched to its limit, straining to hold it all together against such an ill fit.

"I didn't think it would be so bad at first," Nyima says quietly. "But the longer I sat there, the more I felt like a fraud. These people were putting their lives in my hands, asking me to tell them right from wrong. I couldn't help but think that the only reason they did that was because they think Andraste is whispering in my ear, telling me the answers. But she's not. If they knew the truth… if they knew how I think every day about just running away… how terrified I am that somehow Corypheus is going to get me alone… how I have no idea what I'm doing… If they knew all that, they wouldn't trust me with their lives. If they knew who I really was, they'd be so afraid. They'd be terrified just like me."

"I think it's better you're you and not her," Sera says honestly. "You're a real person." Sera had joined the group wanting to see someone like Andraste. Wanting to see someone who had all the answers. But now she can't imagine the Inquisition without Nyima. She couldn't have told Andraste about Lady Emmald or asked her to bake cookies. Andraste wouldn't have played pranks or flirted and teased. Nyima doesn't have all the answers, and she doesn't pretend to. And somehow that is better.

Nyima lets out a bark of a laugh, but it is rough, hollow. She straightens, no longer leaning against the desk. "But I'm not like them. The people I judged today, they faced famine, they faced fear, they faced losing their families. Some of them did things, terrible things, because they felt like they had no choice. And they got judged by someone like me? Someone who has never gone hungry. Never had to fight to keep my family alive. They should hate me, not worship me." She pauses and studies Sera's face and the invisible armor only seems to tighten more. "You should hate me too, Sera."

But she doesn't hate her. There's been times when she's wanted to hate her – for being a noble, for being just a plain old human, and for making Sera care about her. But she can't. Nyima's words are a challenge. But also a plea. Again, Sera sees the invisible armor squeezing Nyima tight. She trusts the armor to keep her safe, even as it crushes her. But maybe she wants to take it off too. Needs to be reminded that she is human underneath it all.

The impulse is strong and sudden. Sera leans in, cupping Nyima's face in her hands, and kisses her fiercely. Surprise at first, but then Nyima is there and she's hungry for it. The twist of her tongue is playful and eager and she clutches at Sera's shirt like a drowning woman. It feels good and it feels right. It feels like Sera should have done it ages ago.

She isn't sure how long it lasts, but Nyima does eventually break the kiss, stepping back and releasing her hold of Sera's shirt. She looks shocked.

"Sera, what was that?" Nyima asks.

Sera tilts her head, genuinely confused by the question. "A kiss. Did you hit your head or somethin'?"

"We shouldn't," she says quickly. "I'm the Inquisitor."

"Did… that do something to you… down there?" Sera asks, suddenly concerned. Then, it hits her what Nyima means and she says, "Oh, the Andraste stuff! She's not, you know, _here_ , so so what? Or is it because you're in charge? Because if there's a problem, I won't lose _my_ job. Don't exactly have a job to lose and they can't sack you." Sera isn't sure why Nyima is being so timid now. After all, she's talked a big game for months. "I can tell you wanted to too. So, what's the problem?"

Nyima looks away, staring at a spot on the floor. "I'm not worth it, Sera. What we have now is good. But anything more… I'm not good at sticking around."

Sera makes a loud and annoyed click with her tongue. "Shite. Already knew you were flighty as piss-all, yeah?" When Nyima raises an eyebrow in surprise, Sera adds, "I do listen to you, you know? Even when I'm watching your arse, still listening. You're always on the edge of running away – I get it. Not saying you have to stick around. Saying that we have some fun and see if it goes good, yeah? You said before: it either is or it isn't. I don't want nothin' from you. Well, I want _you_ so that we can roll around and stuff, but nothin' else." She shrugs. "Point is, I like you and I'm tired of talking about it but not actually doing anything." She fixes Nyima with a stare and says the next few words slowly, drawing out every single syllable. "Now, for the love of Andraste's tits, do you want to _stop_ talking?"

Nyima hesitates, several emotions flashing across her face at once. For a few seconds Sera wonders if she is wrong about everything. If she completely misread the other woman. But then Nyima wraps her arms around Sera and kisses her again.

All at once Sera's senses are full of Nyima. She's still playful, still hungry, but now there's urgency too. Like she's afraid that after she's said yes someone else is going to tell her no. But Sera has no intention of saying no. She pushes the other woman towards the bed without breaking the kiss. On the way she starts to undo the buttons of the Inquisitor's shirt, beginning at the high collar. Halfway through Sera becomes angry at how many there are – how many frigging buttons does one shirt need? She wants to just tear them off, but she doesn't do it. Doesn't want to get Nyima in trouble later.

Nyima notices her fumbling and breaks the kiss with a honey-drip smile. She undoes the rest with a more practiced hand and tosses the shirt away unceremoniously. Then, just as quickly, Nyima lifts Sera's shirt over her head and tosses that aside as well. Sera stands slack jawed for a moment, surprised by the other woman's boldness. Usually, Sera is pushy; she's used to getting her way. Not to mention, this was her idea in the first place. Wasn't it?

Nyima pushes her down onto the bed and climbs over her, resuming the kiss with full force. Her thigh presses against Sera's crotch and the friction makes Sera shiver. And Nyima wastes no time pressing her advantage, placing one hand on Sera's breast and the other on her hip. The combination of several months of nothing and this whole dominance thing makes Sera think that she won't need much of a warm up. Apparently, Nyima is thinking along the same lines because she quickly transfers her kisses to Sera's neck and starts undoing the laces of Sera's breeches with the hand near her hip.

Sera can't help letting out a small giggle and saying, "Shite. Not as unsure as you let on, huh?"

Nyima's voice is muffled against the side of her neck, but she can still make it out. "I've given this a lot of thought."

The admission catches Sera slightly off guard. Partly, Sera feels annoyed. How long has Nyima been thinking about this and doing nothing about it? And partly, Sera feels a bit bad too. She'd been just as lousy about flirting and not following through. Maybe they were both guilty of just saying things instead of doing them. But mostly, Sera feels kind of touched. She likes Nyima. A lot. Sera gets along with some of the others, but not in the same way. It's not as easy with them. It doesn't feel as comfortable. But Nyima seems to get along with everybody. It's nice to know that she's not just doing this because it was offered. That she picked Sera too.

Just as Sera predicted, it doesn't take much for her to come completely undone. She likes the way Nyima whispers flirty things and pulls playfully at her earlobe with her teeth. There's heat and pressure and suddenly the whole world is a haze. Sera curls her toes, clutches at the sheets, and lets out a moan. After, Nyima kisses her again with even more passion.

But Sera can still sense the tension from before. The too tight armor keeping Nyima separate, closed off. It isn't as tight now – like she can finally breathe a little – but it isn't gone either. Sera switches their positions, straddling the other woman's hips and pinning her arms above her head with one hand. With the other hand she explores the contours of Nyima's body while still kissing her fiercely. She's soft yet hard all at the same time. There's muscle and power beneath Sera's fingers, but wherever she touches Nyima feels vulnerable too. Like little by little she's stripping the armor away.

Sera savors the way Nyima breath hitches and she calls out her name. The way she writhes beneath her, wild and reckless. And then, when Sera pushes her over the edge, it's like undoing a buckle and having the whole armor fall off. For a moment it all just disappears: the Inquisition, the Breach, Andraste, all of it.

After, Nyima lays back with her eyes closed, a content smile playing at her lips. Sera props herself up on her elbow and watches her curiously. She looks so human in that moment. Vulnerable and beautiful and completely shagged out. Sera smiles, torn between wanting to kiss her again and not wanting to ruin the moment. But even as Sera watches, the tension starts to creep back in and she can practically see Nyima's mind start to wander back to the outside world.

Sera runs a hand through Nyima's dark hair. She's always liked the other woman's hair. It's soft and pretty and feels good between her fingers. The other woman flinches at the touch and opens her eyes, looking around as if expecting an attack. For a second, Sera can see the panic, the fear, but then her violet eyes land on Sera and she relaxes, taking in a deep breath.

"Shite," Sera says softly. "Knew you were tense, but this whole thing's really done a number on ya, huh?"

Nyima frowns. "You don't know the half of it."

Sera grins and lowers her voice. "Don't worry. I can get that tension _gone_."

Nyima smirks back and strokes Sera's arm. "I bet."

Sera wants to kiss her all over again, but her stomach chooses that moment to give a loud growl. Nyima laughs while Sera sits up, stretching her arms. "But first, let's grab somethin' to eat. Starvin', yeah?"

"Eat, drink, and screw around. You might just be the perfect woman."

"Perfect?" Sera shakes her head. "Piss on that. Something's perfect, it isn't real." She ducks in to steal a kiss, a flirty flick of her tongue meant to promise more later. "And I'm definitely real."

"Fine then," Nyima relents, sounding a bit breathless. "Perhaps you're just perfectly imperfect then."

"Perfectly imperfect, huh?" Sera muses. "Kinda like the sound of that."


	9. Sticking Around

_Sorry for the delay. Life decided that I had more pressing things to attend to and that writing could take a back seat for a while. Hopefully, though, I can get back on track._

 _Anyway, I decided that I wanted to tackle the gift scene from the game because while I thought the concept was good, the game somewhat dropped the ball on execution. In fact, the part that sticks out the most to me in the game is Sera's incredulity that the Inquisitor would tell everyone about their romance. The game throws the line away, but it has always stuck with me. The more I thought about it the more sad her reaction seemed to me. So, I wanted to flesh that out. Also, given the groundwork I laid earlier, it was a good opportunity to tie this chapter to a previous one. I've taken plenty of liberties with the material and deviated a good bit from the game, but it should still be recognizable. Hope y'all enjoy!_

 _~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~._

 **Sticking Around**

Nyima had never had anything resembling a real relationship before. And certainly never anything that came close to formal. There'd been a handful of suitors – after all, even the fourth child of a wealthy house drew some attention – but she'd managed to put them all off with her complete lack of interest. She never acknowledged or accepted gifts. She _would_ accept invitations to dance at parties, but always contrived some excuse to substitute another girl in her place – preferably one who fancied the suitor and who would distract him. She laughed at all the wrong things and refused to even smile at their actual jokes. Whatever interested them, she suddenly decided that she hated. Eventually, the men realized that her family's money wasn't worth the hassle, and they abandoned the hunt in favor of easier prey.

Thanks to her family's reputation for being well-connected to the Chantry, most people at court assumed that Nyima planned to take some vow of celibacy and devote her life to the Maker's work. In reality, Nyima had numerous romantic trysts throughout her adolescence and young adulthood, but always in secret and never lasting more than a couple of days. She never pursued or so much as winked at servants in her household, or anyone connected to her parents. In fact, her lovers had all been people who she knew would travel on to other places in a matter of days and who she would never need to see again. Bards were preferred, but a lady's maid or servant traveling with her master was not out of the question.

Because of this, Nyima had never considered romance as anything past that first initial spark of attraction. Romantic love, as far as she knew, was that feeling she got when she finally managed to convince a talented singer to sneak off with her, or maybe love was an especially good lay. Love was the thrill of pursuit, of not getting caught. Love could be discarded as easily as it was gained, and it never caused her pause or pain.

Now, for the first time, Nyima had to confront the unknown of a romance that didn't just go away. Over a week had passed and she still found herself in secluded spots kissing Sera, sitting next to the other woman on one of the many roofs of Skyhold and laughing until beer shot out of her nose, or intertwined with Sera in bed. And the truly terrifying part of it was that her interest hadn't waned in the least; if anything, it had grown. She kept waiting for the inevitable urge to run away to creep in and end it, but it never came. She wanted to stay. In fact, it was becoming harder and harder to imagine what it would be like without Sera. It terrified her to imagine waking up one day to find Sera suddenly cold to her. To find that she no longer had someone to talk to about silly things or to rant with about how stupid their situation was.

Suddenly, Nyima had to face the fear of keeping a relationship going. She no longer worried about herself getting bored and running away, but rather worried about Sera losing interest. She didn't know if she could take it if Sera suddenly rejected her. She wondered whether she needed to constantly try to keep the other woman's attention somehow – shower her with gifts or compliments or whatever.

Nyima's concern that she didn't know how to be in an actual relationship only worsened when Sera finally did bring gifts into the equation. Nyima had been looking for Sera one day, only to have the other woman pop out of nowhere with a triumphant shout.

"Buckles!" she exclaimed, using the pet name she'd devised for Nyima. Nyima wasn't sure why Sera had settled on that name in particular, and initially she wasn't thrilled at being called anything other than her real name, but she'd come to accept it. Sera would use Nyima's real name as well, especially around others, but it seemed important to Sera to have something unique to call her as well. "Listen!" Sera went on excitedly. "I got you a hat, but it's ugly so I drew Coryphe-whatzits' face on it and stuffed it with apples. Everyone's hitting it with sticks! I really hope you like it." She giggled, turned on her heel, and immediately ran away.

Nyima stood, lost for words and struggling to make sense of what had just happened. Obviously Sera getting her a gift meant… _something_. It couldn't mean nothing. And instinct told Nyima that she now had to think of a gift for Sera or else everything would be off balance. However, all the obvious things that came to mind – flowers, jewelry, clothes – were all things that she knew Sera would find silly and laugh at.

She stewed over the dilemma for another day before realizing that she needed help. But she didn't know who to ask. She thought about who she didn't mind admitting her ignorance to, and eventually settled on Iron Bull. He knew Sera better than most as they were frequent drinking buddies, and she thought that he already suspected something was going on between them anyway. So, she approached him the next day and asked, "Bull, do you mind if I ask you something personal?"

"Shoot, Boss," he said, unfazed.

Nyima pulled up a chair and sat so that their knees were practically touching and she lowered her voice. She didn't relish other people overhearing about her complete lack of experience, or what she saw as herself being completely sentimental. "You've had a lot of relationships, right?"

Iron Bull chuckled. "A few."

"Were any of them… long term?"

That was unusual enough to catch his attention. He shifted in his chair and tilted his head slightly. "I've had a few that lasted months at a time. Although we've discussed this before, Boss. Qunari don't marry or anything like that." He paused, piercing her with his one good eye. "As I recall, you were a fan of the idea."

"Have you ever given gifts or anything like that?" Nyima pressed, ignoring his other comment.

Bull shrugged. "Every now and then. Depends on the person."

"What kind of gifts?"

"Again, depends on the person." He paused and stared at her with that disarming gaze which signaled that he'd pieced the puzzle together. "So, who are we talking about?"

He'd probably already guessed, but Nyima told him anyway. "Sera."

Iron Bull chuckled and shook his head. "I thought I noticed some… tension between you two. Glad to hear you opened the lid."

"So, do you have an idea for a gift?" Nyima asked.

He thought about it for a while and then shook his head again. "Sorry, Boss. I've got nothing. Most of the things that Sera wants aren't things. I'd offer positions or something, but I play a power game, and she's all about the limber." He chuckled at his own innuendo. "Nice catch though, Boss. Good on ya."

After receiving no help from Iron Bull, Nyima reevaluated her strategy. He was probably right that Sera wasn't the type of woman who wanted tangible things, but it was more about the ceremony of it. Nyima didn't want to treat Sera like her other lovers because she _wasn't_ like them. She wanted Sera to stay, not leave the moment the wind changed direction. Although she loathed the word because it brought back memories of courtly life, when Nyima examined what she really wanted she had to admit that she wanted a _courtship_. Eventually, she decided that she probably needed a human opinion, and from someone who would take the formalities of romance seriously. The next person she approached was Blackwall.

"Can I get some advice?" she asked while he worked on his wooden sculpture of a horse. They had almost never talked about personal matters – Blackwall always seemed reluctant to address his past – but he had always given sound advice on military matters. Hopefully, his response this time would be equally as straightforward.

He looked up from his work and said, "Of course."

"How do you court someone?"

He froze and just stared at her as if he hadn't understood the question. Nyima waited awkwardly until he said, "Excuse me?"

"Like when you're courting Josephine. What sort of things do you do?"

"I'm not –" he started to protest but Nyima cut him off.

"We all know you are, Blackwall. But I'm not telling you to stop or anything like that. I just want some guidance on my own… courtship."

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Of who?"

"Sera."

Now his eyes widened. "You and Sera? That's…" he trailed off. "I don't think Sera is the type of woman you court."

The off-hand remark annoyed Nyima, but she decided to let it go. "I want to show her that this relationship is important to me. That she's important to me. So, do you have any advice?"

"Well, courting is really just a way of expressing your intentions," Blackwall said. "Small gifts show you're thinking of her. Big gifts usually mark something more meaningful. But the other small things don't hurt either; ask her to dance, go for walks together, watch a sunset. They're all tried and true methods."

"Can you think of a gift Sera might like?"

Blackwall let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, no. I wouldn't even know where to start with Sera. She does have a… uh, robust sense of humor though. Maybe something funny."

After talking to Blackwall, Nyima still wasn't sure what to do. While talking to him hadn't been a complete waste of time, Nyima still didn't know what to get Sera. She swallowed her pride and asked her other companions for help, only to be amazed by their utter lack of helpfulness. They also seemed troubled by her relationship with Sera, which only served to annoy Nyima further. When it finally came time to ask Cassandra for help, Nyima was less than hopeful of success. Not to mention it felt awkward to ask the woman who had preemptively turned her down for help on a real relationship. But Nyima was becoming desperate, so she gritted her teeth and asked.

"Cassandra, I need a gift idea for Sera."

They stood out in the yard, and Cassandra crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I want to show her that I care about her. That I'm serious about our relationship."

Cassandra openly gaped, speechless at first and then sputtering, "You and Sera – you mean – truly?"

It took all of Nyima's self-control not to roll her eyes. She wasn't sure if everyone's surprise was a comment on her own fear of commitment, on Sera's personality, or a combination of both, but she was getting tired of it.

"I really do care about her. So, what do those romance books of yours say to do?"

Flushing red, Cassandra mumbled, "I don't think they would help all that much."

Finally, Nyima let some of her frustration show. "It can't be worse than anyone else's advice," she grumbled. "Can you think of something I could give her as a gift?"

Although she looked extremely uncomfortable, Cassandra did mull the question over with a serious look on her face. Then she said, "Has she ever expressed interest in something, even in passing?"

Nyima shrugged. "Not that I can recall."

"Then, is there an item that maybe has significance to your relationship? Something you bonded over in the past?"

Cookies immediately came to mind, but it was really the act of baking them together that had been important. Then, it suddenly occurred to her that there was one thing Sera had expressed interest in, and which Nyima had not allowed her to have.

"Oh, shit," she murmured, going pale.

"What is it?" Cassandra asked. "What's wrong?"

"There is something I know Sera would like to have," Nyima admitted. "But there's a problem." Cassandra gave her a questioning look, and Nyima sighed. "It belongs to Vivienne."

~.~.~.~.~

Asking Vivienne to do anything for Sera's benefit would be like asking a dragon to protect a herd of cattle rather than eat it. But the more Nyima thought about it, the more she realized that Vivienne's fan would be the perfect gift for Sera. It marked the beginning of their friendship and was associated with a distinct memory. Plus, Sera would be delighted to deprive Vivienne of something that no doubt held monetary and sentimental value. And, finally, retrieving it would be such a feat that it would be crystal clear that Nyima was serious about their relationship.

At first, Nyima thought about stealing it, but she doubted that she could prevent Vivienne from figuring out where it had gone. And if she didn't blame Nyima for its disappearance, then she would definitely blame Sera. While Sera might be tickled by Vivienne's anger, Nyima also didn't need them starting a war within the Inquisition. That left only one option: asking for it nicely.

"Vivienne," she said, using all the tact she'd ever learned from court life to keep her voice humble. "I need to ask you for a very big favor."

"Of course, my dear," the First Enchanter answered in her ever gracious tone, as if she'd been waiting for Nyima to come begging to her for help for some time. "What is it?"

"Do you still have a fan that's white, with a gold lion painted on it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You mean the one that was given to me by Duke Prosper de Montfort? Why yes, I still have it." Then she narrowed her eyes at Nyima. "How do you know about it? I do not recall showing it to you."

Ignoring that particular nest of thorns, Nyima asked, "Is there any way I could convince you to part with it?"

"Part with it? It is no mere trinket, my dear. It has great symbolic and sentimental value."

Inwardly, Nyima groaned. It was just as bad as she'd feared. The part of her that had still clung to the vague hope that it might be something Vivienne had bought on a whim and didn't care much about died inside her. "I understand, and that's why you can name your price, Vivienne. Anything you want in exchange, if it's within my power, it's yours."

The other woman eyed Nyima suspiciously, obviously confused by such an odd request. "Why do you want it?"

Nyima knew the question was a double edged sword. Dropping Sera's name would not win any sympathy from Vivienne. However, Vivienne would inevitably find out what happened to the fan, so lying now would only come back to haunt her later. Taking a deep breath, Nyima said, "I want to give it to Sera as a gift. To show her that I care about her."

Vivienne's expression immediately fell and she pursed her lips in disapproval. "Oh for… seriously? You want to give my personal property to that… heathen. Just shave something rude into your privates, dear. She won't get the redundancy."

After listening to other people's disapproval all day, Vivienne's comment finally struck a nerve. "Don't mistake my asking you for a favor as license to insult Sera to my face," Nyima snapped.

Vivienne scowled, but she did bite her tongue. "As you wish, darling. But I don't see why I should do anything to help that… creature."

"Then think of it as helping me," Nyima pleaded. "Sera is important to me. So giving me the fan will be a personal favor to me and I will be in your debt."

The other woman thought about it for a while, lips still pursed. Then she sighed and said, "Perhaps this is fortunate for the both of us. I also need a favor, and I loathe the thought of being in anyone's debt. Perhaps we can help each other out and call it even."

Nyima's heart fluttered in her chest, feeling suddenly light. Her eyes lit up and she said, "Yes! Absolutely! Anything! What do you need from me?"

"I need an ingredient for a potion. And time is of the essence. You will need to make this a priority."

"Whatever it is, I promise I'll get it right away," Nyima assured her. "What is it?"

"The heart of a snowy wyvern. You will need to kill one of the beasts and bring me its heart."

Nyima paused briefly. Wyverns were not pushovers, so hunting and killing one would be quite the undertaking. However, it could have been worse. Nyima decided to count her blessings that Vivienne hadn't asked for anything bigger. Nyima would have brought her a dragon's heart if it meant getting that fan. "I'll do it. Thank you, Vivienne. I really appreciate this."

"The things we do for love," Vivienne sighed, although she also scowled while she said it. Then she turned and opened one of her luggage trunks. She retrieved the white fan and placed it into Nyima's hands. "See to it that she doesn't do anything tawdry with it," Vivienne said.

Already slowly backing away before Vivienne could change her mind, Nyima smiled and thanked her again. Now, all she had to do was show Sera that she was ready to give a real relationship a shot.

~.~.~.~.~

"What is this? You look serious," Sera said. Nyima had asked Sera to come speak with her in private and had led her back to the Inquisitor's chambers. While Sera looked carefree, she also eyed Nyima suspiciously, no doubt picking up on the other woman's nervousness. Nyima had thought a lot about how to approach the topic of their relationship, and the more she thought about it, the more the fear of rejection gripped her heart with an icy hand. She hated the idea of putting herself out there, only to have Sera flat out reject her; especially when committing to something was already terrifying to her. So, she wanted to test the waters, at least slightly, before jumping in.

"Sera, can I ask… how are we doing?"

Sera's demeanor visibly tensed. While she tried to keep her tone light and playful, Nyima could hear the wariness in it, and she could see Sera wringing her hands. "You're all right. Just like when I first laid eyes on and wanted to lay other things. Laying, right? It means two things; like you taught me, it's a metaphor and shite."

 _Well, no that's not really a metaphor_ , Nyima thought, but she decided to let it go.

"So, back at you," Sera added quickly. "How _are_ we doing?"

It was probably the closest thing to assurance that Nyima was going to get, so she decided to lay her cards out on the table. "I think we're doing great. And actually…" She took a deep breath and forced herself to go on. "Well, you remember what I said about not wanting a serious relationship? I was wrong, and I want to take it back. What we have is important to me. And –" Nymia's heart was beating unbelievably fast and she suddenly felt short of breath. She took several deep breaths, as if she'd just run a league. "Andraste's tits," she cursed under her breath. "I'm sorry. I just – Give me a minute." She felt suddenly sick to her stomach, but Nyima forced herself to just spit out what she wanted to say. "We both know that sticking with anything usually scares the piss out of me – and obviously I'm not doing so well right now either," she added, pointing to her own flustered face. "But these last several days with you… they've been different. I don't feel like running."

Sera looked even more nervous than before. It probably didn't help that Nyima was obviously terrified. "Buckles…" she said quietly. "What is this?"

Nyima held up a hand and added quickly, "Before you say anything else, I have something I want to give you. Hold on." She hurried over to her desk, opened a drawer, and took out the fan with a shaky hand. Coming back over to Sera, Nyima held it up and opened it to reveal the golden lion as Sera gaped in disbelief. "It's yours," Nyima said. "You can do whatever you want with it." Nyima closed the fan and held it out to Sera.

As she took it and turned it over in her hands, Sera sputtered, "How? Why?"

Nyima's answer came out fast and nervous. "You gave me that gift the other day, sort of, and it got me thinking that I should get something for you. To show you that I'm serious about us. That I'm not going to run away. Well, I asked everyone for advice, and eventually thought of the fan, so I asked Vivienne for it."

Sera, who had been looking down at the fan, suddenly looked up at Nyima, wide eyed. "Wait, wait, wait. You went to everyone and said I was your lover? Right to their faces? They must have…" She leaned over, putting her hands on her knees, caught somewhere between debilitating laughter and complete shock. Nyima blinked in surprise as Sera shook with silent laughter. Then Sera looked back up at Nyima, her gray eyes shining with amusement and she added, "And Vivienne! She must have puckered pinky tight. I can't believe you got this from her _and_ told the truth." She laughed and grinned, and then took a few steps towards Nyima, snapping the fan open in front of her face and peering over the top with her best leering eyes. "Best. Gift. Ever."

Nyima couldn't help but grin back at Sera's playfulness, and it certainly helped ease some of her nervousness. But something else in her gut kicked at Sera's words. A sore ache that caused her brow to furrow with concern. Did Sera fear that Nyima might be ashamed of their romance? "Sera, I – I hope you know that I would never hide what we have from the others." Then, with a bit of humor she added, "Not that I could keep you a secret even if I tried, I'm sure. But that's beside the point."

For a brief second, amazement flashed across Sera's eyes. It flashed and was gone, like an arrow released from the string, but even that tiny moment was enough to make Nyima understand what Sera was thinking. She was thinking about Lady Emmald; how it had been fine for her to be the woman's daughter in private, but in public she had to be hidden away. How she'd known care and kindness only when it was convenient. How the lies had cut her so deep that she'd promised herself to never let anyone wound her so terribly again.

The look came and went, replaced by a smirk and a shrug, as if it all meant nothing to her. Sera opened her mouth to say something flippant, but Nyima closed the distance between them, cupped Sera's face in her hands, and drew her into a kiss. Suddenly, her own nervousness vanished, replaced by a firm conviction that no matter what happened, she didn't want to hurt Sera. She could feel Sera stiffen in surprise so she broke the kiss but kept Sera's face in her hands. "I'm serious, you know," Nyima said quietly. "For the first time in my life I don't feel like running or hiding. I want this to be… real."

Sera looked scared shitless, but Nyima held her gaze. After a few seconds of tense silence, Sera stepped back, breaking away from Nyima's touch and giggled nervously. "You sound like a looney, Buckles. Thought _real_ wasn't your thing. Bed em' and leave em', right?" She made it sound like a joke, but Nyima knew it wasn't. A lot of Sera's jokes were just the truth disguised by a slight lilt of the voice.

"I thought so too," Nyima admitted. "But this time I want to stick around." She paused, and then added, "Unless you want me to go."

"No!" Sera blurted out, then looked embarrassed at her own outburst. "I mean, you're still easy on the eyes. And still fun to play with. It's ok if you stick around."

Nyima smiled. "Does that mean you'll stick around too?"

Sera rolled her eyes dramatically. "Sure, as long as you don't do anything stupid." She looked down at the fan that she still held in her hands. She flipped it open and then shut again and grinned. "Well, getting this fan and telling everyone I was your lover was stupid, but the right kind of stupid. You can do more of that kind of stupid."

Nyima couldn't help shaking her head and chuckling. "Glad to hear it. If I'm an idiot, then at least I'm an idiot that got lucky."

Sera pressed the tip of the fan against Nyima's chest and pushed her towards the bed. "You're about to."

The back of Nyima's legs hit the edge of the bed and she sat down. Sera never missed a beat and immediately straddled her lap, capturing her lips into a fierce dance. And Sera kissed Nyima like no one else ever had. She could feel that all of Sera was in the moment, in that kiss. That she didn't hold a part of herself back. In the past when Nyima kissed someone, a part of her mind had always wandered to other things. All of her affairs had been like games. A way to kill time, to placate the boredom of courtly life, and to satisfy desires. The trysts never meant anything, so Nyima's thoughts had always been divided between the present and the future: how to have fun but also how best to cover her trail so that her family would never find out. And she'd never felt bad for her distraction because she'd always known and sensed that her partners were doing the same. Bards, especially, were always scheming on how to use an "infatuated" little noble as a pawn in the Great Game. They used each other and that was how the Game worked. It was all Nyima had ever known, and she had never considered that the Game could be played any other way.

But Sera was different. She didn't scheme. She didn't worry about secrecy or alliances or power struggles. When she kissed Nyima, she threw all of herself into the kiss, and it made Nyima want to do the same. To forget about everything else and be completely in the moment. Somehow it felt like the first time she had kissed another person, but also like it was the last time she ever would too. A sense of urgency tempered by experience and a feeling of trust. Nyima felt her heart pounding in her chest, her pulse quickened by excitement and desire.

She placed her hands around Sera's waist, pulling her closer. It always surprised her how small and fragile Sera felt whenever she was actually holding her. Elves were smaller compared to humans, but Sera always projected an air of strength. Her demeanor said that she could take care of herself, that she'd come from a hard life and had toughened up to survive. But now, hugging Sera close to her own body and feeling the discrepancy between Sera's size and her inner strength, Nyima felt an overwhelming desire to protect her. To take away the things that tried to hurt her.

As if to show that she didn't need protecting, Sera continued to direct the kiss, pushing Nyima down so that her shoulders hit the mattress. Sera was aggressive, but never forceful. She tugged at Nyima's clothes, but never actually ripped them. She occasionally bit Nyima's lower lip, but never drew blood. There was an odd feeling of complete desire and yet safety too.

In fact, everything about having sex with Sera felt different. Nyima spent more time kissing the other woman than she normally would. All of a sudden she couldn't get enough of it. The taste of Sera's lips, her tongue in her mouth, running her hands through her hair. Kissing Sera felt good; it felt reassuring. Nyima wasn't merely trying to turn Sera on by kissing her. Something else stirred within her beyond just lust or passion. She didn't know what it was, but it made being with Sera even better than she imagined. And she'd imagined quite a bit.

When rolling in the bed finally exhausted them, the pair laid side by side trying to catch their breaths. The cool air coming in from the balcony felt good on Nyima's sweat-beaded skin. Sera propped herself up on one elbow, chin resting on her fist, and nudged Nyima playfully.

"So, who'd you tell first, anyway?" she asked.

Nyima stretched slightly and then put her arms behind her head. "Iron Bull."

"Knew it. What'd he say?"

"He wasn't surprised. But he also wasn't that helpful. Best he could do was offer positions, but said that he didn't think you'd respond to a power game."

Sera let out a derisive snort. "Shows what he knows." She was quiet for a minute and then asked, "So, you told _everyone_ already?"

Nyima raised an eyebrow. "You sound almost disappointed."

"I mean, I like that you told everyone right to their faces and stuff, but wish I'd seen it."

"Well, I didn't tell Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen. They're all yours if you want them. Well, Leliana has probably heard by now anyway or else she's fired, but the other two probably haven't."

Sera immediately sat upright, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You mean prissy Josie and stick-up-his-arse Cullen have _no_ idea?" An impish grin spread across her face. "Quick, get dressed. Or don't. Even better. I have an idea."

Nyima groaned. "I said you could _tell_ them. Not scar them. Can you do this in a way that doesn't involve pissing off two of my advisers?"

Sera rolled her eyes up to the ceiling as she thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Nope. Now, come on."


	10. What Matters

_Fun fact, this chapter was actually one of the first that I wrote for this story. Subsequently, it has undergone a fair amount of editing and tweaking – helped in no small part by the lovely Beast of Burton. I'll confess that it is my favorite chapter. The Winter Palace really illustrates the problems that would be inherent in a relationship between a human Inquisitor and Sera. It forces them to face the reality that they come from completely different worlds (without the ability to hide behind their shared experiences in the Inquisition) and would be especially challenging for Sera given her core set of values (assuming the Inquisitor isn't a total failure at the Great Game). And, well, you know me. How could I resist all the angsty drama?_

 _~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~. ~.~.~.~.~.~._

 **What Matters**

Sera pops another cube of cheese into her mouth and continues to glare at all the nearby nobility. They've completely ignored her at the party so far – which is perfectly fine with Sera – but she can still occasionally overhear their stupid conversations. So-and-so is really the bastard child of Lady What's-her-face and House Arsehole is going to intermarry with House Who-gives-a-shit and blah blah blah. It's all so incredibly stupid and pointless, especially when Corphyshit is trying to destroy the world, not to mention trying to kill their silly empress with nice tits too. This whole big party is a waste of time. Sure, the Winter Palace is impressive and all, but it's all show. It doesn't do anything or help anyone survive.

If anyone had any sense, they would have volunteered to help Buckles save the world the second she showed up to the party. But these puffed up, back-stabbing little tits have the complete opposite of good sense. In fact, Sera keeps overhearing them insult Buckles, saying that she's an upstart or that she's backwater nobility from the Free Marches or that she's a heretic. Sera wants to walk up and kick them all in the crotch or punch them in the tits, but she doesn't because both Buckles and Josephine told her over and over not to do anything like that. She's supposed to stay quiet and keep to herself. Sourly, Sera thinks that Buckles is going to owe her for this. Preferably in bed. No, definitely in bed.

As if thinking of the other woman were enough to summon her, Sera suddenly feels a hand land on the small of her back and then lips press against her ear, whispering, "Enjoying the party?" Sera turns to find Nyima standing behind her, flashing her flirty, charming smile. Just seeing her makes Sera smile too, despite her bad mood, and it takes all her self-control not to lean in and kiss her. They aren't supposed to make a scene. Another promise she'd been forced to make.

"As bloody if," Sera says with a shrug. "These rich tits are so far up their own arseholes that they can't even see how much their servants hate their stinkin' guts."

"What? You're not making any new friends?" Nyima asks, taking a dramatic step back and covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide.

Sera laughs. "Not likely. I'm watching them watch you. They're all glances and titters, not sure if they're allowed to like you yet. Pathetic."

Nyima just smirks and waves a hand dismissively. "They'll come around soon enough. They always do."

Rolling her eyes, Sera replies, "You're so full of it, yeah?"

Nyima steps forward so that there's very little space between them and discreetly places her right hand on Sera's hip. "I got you to like me, didn't I?"

Again Sera wants to grab Nyima by the back of the neck and pull her down into a fierce kiss, but the warning about not drawing any attention makes her hold back. Still, it isn't fair when Buckles is teasing her like this. Sera promised to play by the rules of this stupid game tonight – and she isn't a liar – but she hadn't known that Buckles would try to make the rules more difficult to follow.

"You look really cute tonight, by the way," Nyima adds, stroking the fabric at Sera's hip. "I almost wish dresses had been required. I'm sure this is the only time I'll ever get to see you wear something formal like this."

"Damn right," Sera huffs, even as she feels the heat creeping up into her cheeks. She feels out of place in the uniform. Nyima makes it look easy, natural, but Sera feels like a pretender. "This isn't where I belong."

Nyima just smiles and then says, "Think I can get you to dance with me later?"

"Pfft, me on their precious tiles? That's a good one." Sera can practically feel her face turning red though and the back of her neck is hot. "Besides, I don't… that's not me, yeah? Couldn't be me."

Nyima is about to say something when Josephine's voice cuts through the air. With a graceful step back, Nyima turns to face the ambassador, an effortless smile on her face. It shocks Sera how natural the smile looks, not fake at all. Paired with a slightly raised eyebrow, Nyima looks friendly and curious, eager to hear whatever someone has to say. Josephine approaches with one of the masked women in tow; her age is hard to determine behind the mask, but Sera guesses that she's an older lady. She has that way about her of someone who is used to bossing people around and having them bow and scrape, like she's been doing it a long time. Plus her tits look kind of saggy.

"Inquisitor, may I introduce the Marquise Mantillon?" Josephine says, gesturing towards the old lady. Then she adds, "A member of the Council of Heralds."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, your grace," Nyima says while executing a perfect bow.

The old woman's eyes flick towards Sera for half a second, and then the noble twat pointedly chooses to ignore her presence. Instead, she returns her gaze to Nyima and says, "I've heard you play the Game quite well, Inquisitor. Better than most had expected."

Nyima looks down in an embarrassed sort of way, which is weird because she _never_ looks embarrassed. It's one of the things Sera likes about her. Buckles says what she means and she doesn't hide or lie. She knows what she's good at and what she's not and she has no problem saying so. "You flatter me too much, your grace. If I am proficient at anything, then it may only be accredited to my parents' diligence and instruction."

It takes all of Sera's self-control not to openly gape at Nyima. Buckles _hates_ her parents. Well, maybe hate is too strong a word, but she's made clear that she doesn't like them very much. Sera can't even count the number of times Buckles has spoken about her family with disgust or talked about how many times she wanted to run away while growing up. The way she's talking now makes it seem like she grew up the perfect little lady: modest, polite, and dutiful to her family. That isn't Buckles. That's everything that Buckles hates.

Lady Stupid-old-tits hums in approval and says, "Perhaps we in Orlais do not give the Free Marches enough credit. If it can produce two excellent players such as yourself and Madame de Fer, then perhaps we should pay closer attention." Then she adds, "However, all the rumors that abound at court can make it so hard to tell what is true or false about someone." She blatantly doesn't look at Sera as she says this.

Nyima doesn't miss a beat. She flashes a sympathetic smile and says, "Yes, rumors are as frustrating as they are useful. And sometimes they leave us chasing our tails to no avail."

Sera doesn't like this conversation and she wishes that the old twat would just walk away. She doesn't like this version of Buckles – she sounds too much like Vivienne, all smug smiles and double edged words. She's everything Sera feared that the Herald might be when they first met. And it makes Sera feel out of place. Why is she even here? She's the only one who doesn't belong. Josephine belongs, Leliana belongs, Vivienne belongs, even Cullen and Cassandra belong in their own ways. And now Buckles belongs too. Sera is the only one who stands out.

Just like always.

"Still," Nyima continues, "not all rumors are bad. In fact, rumor has it that you are quite the accomplished dancer, Marquise Mantillon. I would love to know if the rumors are true. Perhaps you'd care to dance?"

Sera nearly kicks Nyima in the shin. Flirting? And with this woman, of all people? Right after she asked Sera to dance?

Lady Needs-a-kick-in-the-arse waves a hand and answers, "It's kind of you to ask, but I'm afraid that there comes a time when we all must admit our age. I do not dance as often as I used to. But I will keep your offer in mind. Perhaps we will have an opportunity to dance together in the future." Then turning to Josephine, she says, "Now, Lady Montilyet, you must introduce me to Lady Pentaghast as well. I believe we even share a cousin. Although a distant one."

Nyima performs another perfect bow. "It was a pleasure, your grace. Thank you for taking the time to introduce yourself and share your company with us."

"The pleasure was all mine, Lady Trevelyan. Please send my regards to your family."

"Of course."

The old lady walks off and Josephine follows, flashing an approving smile at Nyima as she passes. When they're several paces off, the smile on Nyima's face fades and she grumbles, "What a pain in the ass." Placing her chin between her forefinger and thumb, she moves her jaw from side to side. "All this smiling is even making my face hurt. I'm out of practice."

Sera just stares at Nyima, unsure what to say. The sudden and immediate change back to her old self is so quick and eerie. It's like she had been wearing one of those stupid masks that all the Orlesian tits wear and then took it off. Yet, Lady Trevelyan had seemed just as real to Sera as Buckles seems now. What if this version of Nyima is the mask and the other one is real?

Nyima doesn't notice Sera's concern though. She's looking towards the big doors at the end of the hall. "Well, I better get back to snooping around a bit," she says. "Be on your toes." She turns, but glances back at Sera, flashing another smile. It looks just as real as all the others. "I still want that dance, though. Don't forget." Then she heads towards the doors and eventually slips out of view.

When she's gone, Sera decides that she needs some air and heads for a nearby balcony. As she passes a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses, she snags one and downs it in one gulp. It's fizzy and scratchy as it goes down like it doesn't actually want anyone to drink it. It feels like the bubbles are trying to rise back out of her throat. No wonder noble twats are always chucking it back up all the time.

Out at the balcony area it's empty, so she hurls the empty glass out into the night air with a grunt. The satisfying sound of it shattering somewhere in the distance makes her feel a little better. Then she leans against the stone railing to think.

She wants to leave this stupid place. She'd rather be in Skyhold, where all the people who want to call her a freak, like Vivienne or Solas, have to do it one on one and to her face. Where Sera can talk to the serving men and women and feel like her thoughts matter. Like she's helped them. Here, she only feels like an outsider. She knows that when Buckles talked to the old noble lady that they were saying more than they actually did. That things were happening and power was being checked and that somehow Buckles had done a good job, but Sera didn't understand why or how or what. It all seems like nonsense to her.

And how can Buckles be a part of all that nonsense? She remembers Buckles telling her that neither of them fit into the box. Buckles said that she wasn't like the rest of her family. But it seems like Buckles fits in pretty damn well here. Did she lie? Did she just tell Sera that to make her trust her? The thought eats away at Sera's insides.

As she's thinking all this, someone else rushes out onto the balcony and lets out a loud, relieved sigh. Sera turns and sees Cassandra looking flustered and angry. When their eyes connect, Cassandra says, "Oh, Sera, thank the Maker it's only you out here. I need a break from this cursed party." She comes over and leans on the railing as well, taking in a deep breath. Sera takes a little bit of joy at seeing someone else looking as miserable as she feels. However, people _want_ to talk to Cassandra. They think that she belongs with her hundreds of names and all that. It's clear that no one wants Sera to be here.

"I forgot just how horrible these sorts of things are," Cassandra continues. "I don't know why the others actually seem to enjoy it."

"You think Buck – I mean, Nyima likes all this?" Sera asks quietly.

Cassandra shrugs. "All I've heard about tonight is how good the Inquisitor is at the Great Game. I had no idea. I know she's from a noble house, but so am I and – well, she always made it sound like she hated this sort of thing. I know Josephine and Leliana were terrified of how she might act tonight, yet now they're as pleased as I've ever seen them."

"You don't pretend to be like them when you're out there?" Sera asks, feeling knots in her stomach.

"Me? No, I'm not good at pretending. I try, but people can see how I truly feel written all over my face. I've never been able to lie about how I feel. It has not won me a lot of friends over the years."

"So, Nyima likes all this shite, or she's good at lying about how she feels," Sera says bitterly.

"I suppose so," Cassandra replies, shrugging. Then, she notices the look on Sera's face for the first time and asks, "Sera, is something the matter?"

Sera doesn't know what to say. She isn't good at talking about how she feels. When she tries it comes out as a jumbled mess and when she hears what a mess she's making of it she always tries to back away from whatever she was saying. Then the other person can't understand her and they think that she is being ridiculous and they usually just ignore her after that. She needs someone like Buckles who can read in-between her words and see where she meant to go and push her in that direction. She knows from experience that Cassandra can't read in-between the words.

Still, she can't talk to Buckles _about_ Buckles, so she decides to give Cassandra a shot. "I know I don't fit in this box. Told Buckles that I don't fit. Said she was glad. That she didn't fit too. But a box is a box, right? You can't be in and out. The arseholes like her, and I like her. But she's gotta lie to one of us. I thought I would be able to tell. I _had_ to know the real Buckles, right? But lying Buckles looks the same as true Buckles. So, what does it mean if I can't tell?"

Cassandra hesitates, her brow deeply furrowed. "Uh… I'm not sure I follow…"

Sera lets out a frustrated growl. "Me and her. I dunno if it's a lie."

Cassandra's eyes widen and she seems to understand Sera a lot better. "Oh." She stretches out a hesitant and awkward hand, putting it on Sera's shoulder. It's weird, but Sera doesn't feel like making fun of her for it at the moment. "She really cares about you, Sera. Whenever she talks about you… well, I can just feel it."

"Or she's good at pretending," Sera spits back.

The other woman is quiet for a while, and then she says, "I can't say that I've been in your shoes before, Sera. But I know a thing or two about faith. I know it's terrifying when you realize that you can never know for certain. And I suppose you can never truly know what is in someone else's heart; but for some things, it doesn't really matter what you can or cannot prove. You believe because it's worth believing in. And while I can't promise you that what you and Nyima have is real because I don't know, you and she _can_ decide if it's worth believing in."

 _That's like Cassandra. Such a mushy little fop_ , Sera thinks. Still, regardless of whether Sera believes them, the words are comforting. She doesn't need the approval of all the others, but it's nice to feel like someone is on her side all the same.

Before Sera can reply, a voice behind them calls out, "The Inquisitor is looking for you two!" They both jump in surprise and turn around to see Leliana standing between the balcony and the inside of the palace, looking bothered by having to play messenger. "We don't have time to stand around chatting. Go find the Inquisitor." Without another word she slips away.

Cassandra's face sets in determination, but she spares Sera one more meaningful glance and says, "Just think about what I said. Faith isn't easy, but some things are worth believing in."

~.~.~.~.~

Nyima melted into the shadows, crouching low and circling the small battle taking place in the courtyard. It was a nifty trick she'd picked up during her time in the Inquisition; she could virtually disappear into the darkness, only to remerge behind someone and stab them in the back. It complemented her already dirty style of fighting nicely. Nyima didn't need to feel like the hero, charging into battle with a sword and shield and hacking away at the enemy – front and center for everyone to see. That was the easiest way to get yourself killed as far as she was concerned. She'd let people like Cassandra or Blackwall do that, holding the enemies' attentions while she picked them off from the shadows.

Watching and waiting for an opening, Nyima couldn't help letting her eyes drift towards Sera. Not just because she wanted to make sure that the other woman was safe, but also because watching Sera with a bow could be mesmerizing. She'd hardly believed Sera all those months ago when she'd said that she'd never had a teacher. After all, Nyima knew how to fire a bow. She'd been taught as a young girl and she remembered all the hours of practice with Master Brehm correcting her posture, her hand placement, her aim until she could finally hit a target. And even then, Nyima had never been an especially accomplished archer. She could get by, but it wasn't her favorite weapon. Still, she thought that she knew what proficiency with a bow looked like.

Until she met Sera. Watching Sera fire a bow at first felt like watching someone participate in a drunken tavern bet. Master Brehm had often said that a master of the bow treated the weapon like an extension of his body. Sera's technique laughed in the face of that advice. The bow was never a part of her body. It was a tool, a toy, something that brought her amusement or pleasure, but she never forgot that it could be discarded. Every shot looked like a trick shot, as if she were trying something new just to see if she could or it looked as if she were trying to win a bet. Nyima had seen Sera make impossible shots: knocked to the ground, flat on her back and still sinking an arrow through an enemy's eye or running away and somehow firing a shot over her shoulder and still hitting the target dead center. Sera was more than just a master with her bow. She was an artist.

Buy as Nyima watched her then, something seemed off. She seemed… distracted, although distraction for Sera looked different than it did for other people. Sera's mind shifted easily from one thought to another, constantly in the moment, constantly changing. But now she appeared to be working off of muscle memory, her thoughts elsewhere. When Sera worked off muscle memory, she looked more like a typical archer. Each individual shot didn't matter because it was nearly identical to the last. She still hit all her targets, but her usual spark was gone.

At the same time that Nyima noticed this, she also noticed one of the harlequin-like assassins moving stealthily towards Sera. In her distraction, Sera didn't seem to notice the enemy approaching. Nyima felt her stomach knot itself and she moved quickly through the shadows, closing the gap while remaining in the dark. She watched the assassin continue to get closer and raise a knife, ready to leap at Sera, and still the other woman did not seem to notice. The assassin bent his legs, preparing to jump. Nyima, still a good distance away, felt a stab of desperation in her chest and in one quick motion she raised her arm and threw a knife while simultaneous yelling a warning at Sera. It was a long distance to throw, but the combination of fear and adrenaline helped make the shot. The blade sunk straight into the man's chest and he slumped back, dead.

Sera snapped back to her senses and stared, wide-eyed, at the dead man. Then her head snapped back towards Nyima, just as the other woman came running up to her.

"Sera, are you alright?" Nyima asked, worried.

"Fine," Sera grumbled angrily.

Nyima blinked at the odd response. "You need to pay attention, Sera. He almost got the drop on you."

"Don't tell me what to do," Sera said hotly, turning her back on Nyima.

"Sera, is something wrong?" Nyima asked, reaching out towards her.

But before she could reach her, she heard a shout over her shoulder. "Inquisitor! You should see this!" Nyima let her hand drop and looked back over to where Cassandra and Vivienne had finished off the remaining enemies near the center of the courtyard. The First Enchanter held a piece of paper in her hands, presumably taken off of one of the dead men. When Nyima looked back at Sera the other woman had taken the opportunity to walk several paces off, obviously trying to escape a conversation. Nyima sighed, but decided to let her be. She couldn't get into an argument with Sera right now. Turning back, she headed over to where Cassandra and Vivienne stood.

~.~.~.~.~

Sera feels sick to her stomach as she watches Buckles dance with that noble lady, Florianne. She shouldn't be jealous. After all, Buckles asked her to dance and she said no. She doesn't know how to dance and it isn't who she is. The steps are too complicated, and everyone looks like a daft tit doing it. But still, watching Buckles dance and smile and charm and flirt with that horrible noblewoman makes Sera want to scream in frustration.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Josephine and Leliana standing just a few steps away, watching the dance along with everyone else. They don't bother to hide their smiles of approval. Sera tilts her head slightly to hear them.

"This is going so much better than I expected," Josephine says. "Better than I could have hoped. The Orlesians are fascinated by her."

Leliana nods slightly. "I know. She's handled them masterfully."

"I've even had some people express interest in marriage proposals," Josephine adds, chuckling.

Leliana raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

"Like I said. They are fascinated by her. And she comes from a respected enough family to make it feasible for some."

Leliana shakes her head wonderingly. "I must admit. Given the Inquisitor's usual choice of company and her usual bluntness, I didn't expect her to survive the night. But now?" She lowers her voice and Sera has to strain to hear. "I think she might have more power in this court than Celene herself. We will need to capitalize on all this goodwill. Before anyone finds out about her… other choices of company."

Sera knows exactly what Leliana means. While Sera isn't sure whether they've noticed her standing so nearby, it's entirely possible that they have and they don't really care if she overhears. She knows that the advisors don't like her. They've never liked her. They don't know what she wants and it scares them. They like her even less now that she's with the Inquisitor. They don't like the thought of their sacred, holy figure rolling around in the mud with some city elf. But she was prepared for that. She'd steeled herself against the disapproval, the looks, the snide comments about her not being good enough for Buckles. All her life Sera's faced a long string of insults, and she's used to fighting her own battles. She tells herself that she doesn't care and she moves on.

What she wasn't prepared for, however, is that Nyima makes it feel like they're on a team.

Sera likes the feeling, but also doesn't know what to do with it. When they're out in the field and Vivienne or Solas starts to run their mouths, Sera is ready to fight back but Nyima will beat her there. She defends Sera as if defending herself. She never hides. She's never ashamed of what they have. And to Sera, it feels like something new. They have so much fun together, but it's starting to feel like it's more.

It's starting to feel like it matters. The thought is scary and exciting and unreal, all at the same time.

And then they came to this stupid party with these stupid arse-faced nobles and now Sera doesn't know what to think. Maybe she is a distraction. Maybe this is where Nyima belongs. After all, what do they even have in common? Nyima is from a world of dancing, of money, of never going hungry. In Sera's world people hated her for the point in her ears. She was hidden away whenever the woman who pretended to be her mom had company over because Sera's face was shameful and embarrassing. Nyima loves horses, and from the talk around Skyhold she's apparently a masterful rider. The only thing Sera has are her skills and her bow, and nobody gave her either. Nyima uses big words in her clean, crisp accent. Sera doesn't even really know where she came from; she just has a vague idea of starting out somewhere near Denerim. The more Sera thinks about it, the more she realizes that they are completely different. Nyima is everything that Sera is supposed to hate. So, then, why does Sera still like her so much?

On top of everything else they fight. A lot. But even that, Sera likes. She'd rather fight than be ignored. And fighting with Nyima isn't like fighting with some of the others. She isn't mean; she isn't condescending. She's firm but not immovable. Sera likes this kind of fighting because she feels like she's learning. She feels differently after a fight. Even if they don't end up on the same side at the end, it still feels like they moved a little closer towards each other.

And most importantly, fighting with Nyima never feels like the end of being on a team. Sera knows that after the fight there is a promise of a kiss and it's over. Like they're two pieces of a bow, and no matter how far apart the string stretches, they'll eventually come back together. But right now the string is stretched very tight. So tight that Sera is afraid it will snap.

Sera turns back to watch Nyima spin Florianne and then pull her in close, practically embracing. Their faces are almost touching and Nyima flashes a smile. It looks so genuine, so kind, so flirty.

Sera can't tell if it's real or fake, and the realization hits her like an arrow in the chest.

~.~.~.~.~

Sera passes by some woman dressed all in black as she makes her way out to the balcony where Nyima is. The party is starting up again now that the empress is safe and everyone knows that the Inquisitor saved the day. Sera searched for Nyima in the crowd, but found her gone. She listened and learned that Nyima went out onto the grand balcony. Now, passing the strange woman, they eye each other like cats in a back alley; the woman in black raising an eyebrow with all the haughty confidence of a plump tabby practiced at hunting and killing rats, and Sera narrowing her eyes with all the wariness of a ragged stray with half bitten ears and patchy fur. Sera's intuition tells her that this woman is trouble in people form, so she gives her a wide berth. There's no doubt that the woman is a mage, even from just one look, and Sera knows better than to mess with that.

They pass each other, and Sera makes her way out onto the balcony and sees Nyima leaning on the rail, staring out over the gardens. As she gets near, she sees that Nyima looks beaten down, and despite her own feelings, Sera gets the urge to comfort her. Her anger at Nyima turns into anger at herself. Wasn't the plan to confront Buckles about lying? Yet, one look at the other woman's sad face and Sera wants to wrap her arms around her. She's pissed off at her own lack of determination.

She comes to stand by the other woman, placing her hands on the rail and saying, "Hey you, what's wrong?"

Nyima turns her head to look at Sera, and underneath the invisible weight she smiles. "It's nothing. It's just been a long night. We did save an empress after all." She lets out some pent up breath and adds, "Besides, pretending to be a proper lady is always a drag. It's very tiring."

"Seemed like you were havin' a pretty good time," Sera says bitterly.

Nyima doesn't seem to notice Sera's tone because she just shrugs and answers, "There's some satisfaction in outsmarting the smug bastards – I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but I've always wondered how good I would be against actual Orlesians – but for the most part it's tiring to pretend to be something I'm not. It was easier before, back when I had to pretend every day, but now I've gotten used to being my own person all the time."

Sera isn't convinced. In fact, now she's angry again. "Yeah, or maybe this is a lie. Just tellin' me what I want to hear coz… coz what? Coz you like manipulatin' people? You play me just like you play them? You act like you're all different, like you're all weird and don't fit in the box like me, but they loved you out there. And them and me? We can't like the same person. It's impossible. So, how do I know that this you is the real you?"

Nyima is staring at her, wide-eyed, confused. She pushes herself back from the railing and straightens so that she is more on eye-level with Sera. "What are you talking about?" she asks.

All the fear and anger and doubt that has been building inside Sera all night just comes tumbling out. "You're a liar. You've probably lied to so many people tonight – and how am I supposed to know that I ain't one of them? You could be just like Lady Emmald. Making me believe you to protect your stupid pride. How am I ever supposed to know if you're telling the truth?"

Nyima stands, stunned for a moment. Sera can tell that she's caught off guard, that she had no idea that this was coming. Nyima thinks about it for a while, studying Sera's face, and then says, "Sera, I was born into all of this." She pauses, shakes her head, and chuckles. "Well, not _this_ ," she says, gesturing towards the towering palace behind them. "Even my parents' inflated egos couldn't dream of being born into this. But you know what I mean." She regathers her thoughts and then continues, "But, anyway, I was born into this. I didn't choose it. In fact, I've actively tried to reject it my whole life. I also didn't choose the Inquisition or to be the Herald. Those things were forced onto me – by fate, the Maker, the worst luck in the world – whatever you want to call it. And as much as I'd like to reject it, I can't. So, in the end, two of the most defining things of my life are both things I didn't chose and wouldn't have chosen. All my life, the person I've been to other people has been a lie. And all I ever wanted was to run away from those lies."

Sera stares back, confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's the crucial difference between all of those things and you," Nyima answers. "I didn't choose any of them. And because I didn't choose them, because they were forced upon me, I had to learn to lie – to say that I wanted them when I really didn't." Nyima runs a hand through her beautiful, black hair and shakes her head as if shaking off the past. "But Sera, I _did_ choose you. You're the one important thing I got to choose for myself. You're the only thing I have that I've ever truly wanted. I've spent my whole life dealing with choices I didn't make. And I learned to pretend like I wanted all those other things in order to survive."

She grins, but it's crooked and bitter. "And I'll be honest with you, all that time pretending to be something I'm not turned me into a great liar. I can't stop being a great liar. Especially not now, when the fate of the world might depend on how well I can lie to people who are experts at sniffing out the truth. But the things I didn't choose don't matter to me. That's why I can lie about them."

Nyima pauses briefly and she gives Sera that look that makes her think that Nyima can see right into her. It's a look that sends a shiver – of fear and excitement – through her. Then Nyima says, "But I couldn't lie to you, Sera. Because you do matter. Because I did choose you."

Sera doesn't know what to say. She can feel the anger slipping away, like water dripping from a cupped hand. Yet anger is replaced by confusion. What Buckles said sounds like the truth, and she wants to believe it. But if Buckles is such a good liar, then even things that sound like the truth might not be real. How is Sera supposed to know? She can't be fooled. Not by one of _them_. Not _again_. She isn't their pawn, their play thing. Not anymore.

"It's just words," Sera says quietly.

Sera expects Nyima to get mad, to not understand. But instead the other woman nods her head. "I know," she says. "Sadly, so much of what matters can only be expressed by words." Then, she surprises Sera further by holding out her hand, palm up, and asking, "Well, at the very least, I believe you still owe me a dance."

Taking a slight step back, Sera shakes her head. "Told you, that's not me. I don't…"

But Nyima reaches forward and takes Sera's hand and pulls her close. She interlaces the fingers of their hands and then wraps her other arm around Sera's waist. In spite of herself, Sera can't help but think how right it feels to be pressed up against Nyima.

"I don't – I don't know how," Sera protests. "I won't know the steps."

Nyima smiles. "It doesn't matter. Screw other people's dances. We'll make up our own." She takes a step back and pulls Sera along, changes direction, spins around, and steps back again. Sera lets herself be led, unsure what else to do. She realizes that the music is floating out to them from inside the palace. It takes her a second, but she picks up that Nyima is moving with the flow of the music. There's no particular pattern, but yet it works, meshes together. And suddenly, Sera can feel it. It's like an invisible hand is guiding them to step in time with the music, nudging them along. It isn't hard to follow, just step whichever way Nyima steps. The timing is in the music and it's easy to hear. Soon, Sera is following along in perfect rhythm. They're moving together wherever the music takes them.

It feels almost like a game. But it also feels warm and safe and snuggly, like wrapping herself in a blanket by the fire while it rains outside. It's an amazing feeling. Like it all just fits. Sera and Buckles and the music. They just fit together, even though nobody knows what the dance is supposed to be. Is this really dancing? Was it always this easy? Sera has been watching her feet for a while, but she raises her eyes to meet Nyima's smiling face. Or is it just this easy with her?

Nyima steps back and gently pushes Sera into a twirl, guiding her on the unfamiliar move without a word. Sera can't help laughing with amusement as she spins and when Nyima wraps her arm around her waist again she laughs too. They dance in their own world, untouched by the dangers of the Winter Palace, until the music slowly fades away.

Nyima brings them to a graceful stop, but keeps her arms around Sera. For a moment there's silence. Then Nyima says, "So, was that a lie?" It's a question and a challenge. It's a bunch of words that could ruin what they have forever.

Something kicks in Sera's gut when she thinks about the dance being a lie. She had seen Nyima dance with that horrible Florianne woman, and Nyima had been just as graceful then. But that was the only similarity between the two dances. Before, Nyima had been dancing someone else's dance, surrounded by people who were all doing the same thing. She'd made it look beautiful, elegant, and easy, but it was clear that it had never been hers.

But this dance was different. It had belonged to them and only to them. Sera doesn't think she could recreate the steps again if she tried. The dance had existed in the moment. But, at the same time, she could imagine more dances like it. Different, in their own ways, but just as special. That feeling couldn't be a lie. If that didn't matter, then what did?

In spite of herself, Sera thinks about what Cassandra said earlier. About deciding to believe in something because it is worth believing in.

Nyima's eyes are searching her face, looking for an answer. Letting out some of her pent up breath, Sera says, "This matters, yeah?"

Nyima visibly relaxes and only then does Sera realize that she'd been standing so tensely. The buckle on the invisible armor releases and she gives Sera that look, the soft one that says she really means it. "I believe it truly does," she says.

Sera nods. "I believe it too."

Nyima smiles just as the music starts up again. And so they dance, making up the moves as they go.


End file.
